


My Heart I Give Into Your Keeping

by xxSparksxx



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Because I can, Everybody Lives, F/M, Female Bilbo, Laketown, a wonderful blending of book and film canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have not played nursemaid since Kili was young and in bed with pneumonia,” Thorin said.<br/>“You’re not my nursemaid,” Bella murmured, closing her eyes once more and tugging the blankets a little higher up. “I don’t know why you’re here at all.” </p><p>Or: Bella Baggins falls ill in Lake-town, and Thorin tends to her, although she's not sure why at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A glorious mix of film and book canon. Because I can. This was only meant to be a short one-shot, but it....grew. Explicit sexual content in chapter four (with some hints in chapters two and three). The fic is finished; I'll post a new chapter every evening.  
> Many thanks to etmuse for beta-reading, and pinkfairy727 and wanderingchild for cheerleading.  
> Disclaimer: The characters within do not belong to me.

“That is _it_!”

Her shout cut through all the noise the Dwarves were making, and suddenly there was a hush. Bella Baggins shoved Fili away from her and gingerly wriggled her toes.

“Bella –,” Fili began, smiling a beguiling smile, but Bella looked up at him and _glared_.

“No,” she said darkly. “No.” In the past two days she had nearly drowned, and nearly been smashed against rocks, and forced to walk whilst soaking wet and despite wounds to her feet from the journey down the river. She had spent weeks in Thranduil’s palace, wandering around wearing that dratted ring that seemed to make her feel colder and weaker every day that passed. She had hardly managed to eat, too scared that her small thefts would be noticed, while the Dwarves – though imprisoned – had been fed three meals a day. She had caught a cold, probably because she was under-nourished and had walked three miles in soaking wet clothes, and she hadn’t been able to breathe through her nose properly for the last quarter of an hour.

Now, at last, they were indoors. They had been given the use of a house in Lake-town, with provisions and decent beds, and Bella had just been about to excuse herself to one of the bedrooms when Fili had taken a step backwards without looking and trodden on her foot with his great heavy boots, and his stupid Dwarf feet – and really, she seethed to herself, why did Dwarves have to wear boots anyway? Hobbit feet were much better equipped to deal with the world. Then, to top it all off, he was trying to get off without an apology by smiling a smile that, no doubt, he used to charm many a Dwarf maiden.

It was the last straw. It was the last straw in a long line of last straws. Bella Baggins had been through a great deal since Gandalf had carved that symbol on her front door and dragged her into an adventure, but she had reached her limit.

“I have had enough of Dwarves,” she seethed. “Emptying my pantry – and laughing at me – and insulting me – and complaining when I rescue you – and being rude – and treading on my feet with your stupid _boots_!” Her voice was shrill enough to do Lobelia Sackville-Baggins proud, but she couldn’t seem to modulate her tone. Bella had spent the last few months running for her life. She had been used as a handkerchief by trolls. She had endured insult and injury alike, from Thorin and his Dwarves and from orcs and the dangerous paths they had taken. She had riddled for her life, rescued her companions from spiders, gone without food and lost the buttons off her jacket. Six months ago she would have laughed at the very idea that she could do all these things, but she had done them. And enough was enough.

Some of the Dwarves were staring at her now, with varying degrees of surprise and concern, but some kept their eyes on the floor. Bella rather hoped they felt ashamed of themselves, uncharitable a thought though it was. Thorin was one of those who stared. From his seat by the fire he looked at her, with that fearsome, direct gaze that made it seem like he could see right through a person. He’d looked at her like that before. At the start of the journey such a look had often been followed by a sneer or a scowl as he weighed her worth and found her wanting, but lately he’d had a different expression, and Bella couldn’t work out what it meant, what he was seeing now when he looked at her. 

Bella took a deep breath, and then had to cover her mouth as a cough forced its way out. She felt ill. She _was_ ill. She was still soaked to the skin, and her clothes were cold and clinging uncomfortably. She was starving hungry – and she didn’t think that was too much of an exaggeration – and her foot, already scraped and grazed, now throbbed from being stood on.

Bella was a Baggins and a Took and a respectable, middle-aged Hobbit. She was not given to emotional outbursts. But she had had enough.

So she did the only thing she could possibly do under the circumstances. She burst into tears.

For a long moment her sobs were the only sound in the room. The Dwarves, all thirteen of them, seemed stunned into silence by her outburst and, now, by her tears. Bella lifted her hands to cover her face, ashamed of herself, but she could not stop crying, great fat tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Then the Dwarves began to talk, all at once and all, it seemed, at the top of their voices. Fili babbled apologies at Bella, but he was shoved aside by Bofur, who in turn was displaced by Balin, who at least had the decency to bring a blanket and wrap it around her.

“There, now,” Balin said awkwardly. “Don’t take on so, dear. Come and sit by the fire.”

“I want to go to bed,” Bella managed to say. “I just want one night’s peace and quiet, in a _bed_.”

“Bed’s the right place for you,” said Bofur, patting her on the shoulder. “It’ll all look better in the morning.” When she peered at him between her fingers she saw that he was smiling, a hopeful sort of smile, but Bella couldn’t smile back. Instead she sneezed once, twice – three times. 

“Oin!”

Thorin’s voice cut across the din, silencing them all. Bella lifted her face from her hands to look at him. Thorin had risen, and had crossed the room to stand nearer to her. She flushed, and looked down, but could not stop crying. She clutched the blanket around her and tried to take some deep breaths, but her throat tickled, and she coughed again, ending up half-bent from the force of it.

“She is ill,” Thorin said. “Oin, fetch what supplies you need. We’ve credit enough to pay for herbs and salves, I think.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t – I don’t mean to be a bother,” said Bella confusedly. Her outburst over, her temper gone, all she felt now was wretched and miserable, and anguished that she had given Thorin yet more reason to doubt her worth. He had been kinder to her since she had saved him from Azog, true, but still she was a Hobbit, and a woman, and she felt her value in his eyes was yet precarious. She didn’t want to lose what little standing she had with him in, not when she – but that was a thought she hardly dared admit to herself when she was alone in her bedroll, let alone in a cramped sitting room with a company of Dwarves all looking at her.

“Mistress Baggins,” said Thorin, more patient than she had seen him before, “you are a member of this company, and we should have seen your illness before now. Come, let me help you to a bed.” There was some muttering at that; Bofur put a hand on Bella’s shoulder, and Dwalin growled a few words in Khuzdul, deep in his throat. Thorin retorted quickly, snapping at his cousin, but Bella had only worked out a handful of words in the language of the Dwarves, all learnt illicitly, and she did not know what they said to each other.

Whatever it was, Thorin’s answer seemed to appease the others. Bofur reluctantly took his hand from Bella’s shoulder, and Thorin came forwards and held his arm for Bella to take. Still sniffling, Bella took it, set aside the blanket, and let him lead her from the sitting room.

“I’m sorry,” Bella mumbled, leaning on him more heavily than she would like. Her left foot throbbed hotly where Fili had trodden on it; her right foot was sore from a cut that went from her heel to the joint of her big toe. Both feet were covered in grazes. Her face was a mess of tears, her eyes sore and puffy, her nose blocked and her throat still tickling, warning that another cough was not far away. She felt bruised and battered, and not merely physically.

“Why are you apologising?” He sounded faintly amused, which Bella supposed was better than annoyed. “We are the ones who should be sorry, for not seeing to your injuries and illness sooner.”

Bella couldn’t quite find anything to say to that. She let Thorin guide her to the stairs, where she had to take her arm from his in order to ascend, the stairs too narrow to admit two. She went slowly, gripping onto the banister, but Thorin didn’t rush her. He came up the stairs behind her, letting her set the pace, and when they reached the landing he offered his arm for her again. 

“I can find my own way,” Bella said quickly, and then fell into another coughing fit. Thorin gripped her arms and held her upright, and Bella didn’t want to admit how much she needed the support. Without Thorin’s strong grip, she thought she might have fallen to her knees, such was the force of the coughing.

“I don’t doubt that you can find yourself a bedroom, Mistress Baggins,” Thorin said, when at last her coughs ceased and she was able to straighten herself up, “I merely doubt that you are capable of reaching one at present.”

Bella spluttered, and tried to protest, but Thorin would have none of it. He rolled his eyes at her, and held his arm out towards her once more.

“Take my arm, or let yourself be carried,” he advised. They stared at one another. Bella could scarcely believe he had said such a thing, but Thorin looked serious, his expression determined and his mouth set in a firm line. She inhaled, preparing a stinging retort, but Thorin pre-empted her. He seemed to decide that she was not capable of giving him a fitting response, and he picked her up in one smooth motion, one arm under her knees and the other at her back. Bella wrapped an arm across his shoulders to balance herself.

“Put me down,” she said indignantly. “Put me down this instant! Thorin!”

“No,” he said, and carried her along the landing. He glanced in at the open doors of each bedroom as he passed them, and Bella wondered what, precisely, he was looking for – a bedroom was a bedroom, as far as she was concerned, one much alike to another, and all she wanted was to find one and to crawl into bed.

Possibly without even asking for something to eat first.

The bedroom furthest from the stairs seemed to suit him; he entered and put Bella into a chair beside a fireplace. It must have been a child’s chair, because it was the right height. The bed too, Bella saw, was a child’s bed, and therefore suited to a Hobbit. There was a window in one wall, curtained with heavy drapes that kept drafts at bay. The fireplace, she was disappointed to see, was cold and empty. 

“That was highly unnecessary,” she scolded Thorin. “I can still walk, you know.” Thorin said nothing in response, merely looked at her, until Bella found herself unaccountably flushed, and had to look away. She wiped her wet cheek with a cold hand, and sniffed. “Fine. I’m here now. You can go back downstairs.”

Thorin’s lip twitched at that, but Bella couldn’t tell whether he was amused or irritated. He said nothing to her, but went back to the door and leaned out. 

“Kili!” he called. There was no response, and he called again, louder. Bella winced and lifted a hand to her head, which had started to ache. She wished he would leave her be; she just wanted to crawl into a bed and sleep until she felt better. But Thorin didn’t go, and Kili came clumping up the stairs – although, Bella realised with surprise, he had taken off his boots, so the noise of his steps wasn’t quite as loud and heavy as usual. He looked subdued, as if he’d been chastened by somebody.

“Hot water and cloths,” Thorin said brusquely. “And firewood.”

“Oh! Is there a fireplace?” Kili peered around Thorin. He spotted Bella, and she tried to smile at him, but then Kili yelped as Thorin shoved him back a pace. 

“Yes,” he said, in a withering tone, “which is why I chose this room for her. See if you can find some dry clothing.” Kili nodded and turned to go, but Thorin stopped him. “Hot food, too,” he added. “Soup or broth, perhaps.” Kili murmured acknowledgement and then left, and Thorin turned back to Bella. She stared at him, quite bemused by his attentions, and it took a moment for her to realise that he had approached the chair she sat in, that he was kneeling before her.

“What – Thorin?” she managed to say, inarticulately. Then Bella practically gaped as he lifted her right foot. “Get off!” she snapped. “I’m quite capable of – _ouch_!” She pulled her foot from his grasp, fresh tears stinging her eyes. That had hurt, whatever he had done – touching the cut with his fingers, however gentle he had been. And he had been gentle, she realised suddenly. He had been very gentle. Still, he shouldn’t have done that, touched her foot without – honestly, it was more brazen than many a Hobbit lad would dare. But of course, she reminded herself, Thorin was a Dwarf, and knew little of what was considered inappropriate by Hobbits.

“My apologies,” he said, his hands held out as if in supplication. His eyes were fixed upon hers, blue and sharp and intent. “I meant only to help,” Thorin went on. “To see the injury.”

“I - .” Bella cleared her throat, which only led to more coughing. Thorin waited patiently, kneeling before her, until Bella could speak again. “You should ask before touching my feet,” she said at last. Thorin lifted his eyebrows, a mute expression of surprise, and Bella felt herself blush, felt her ears go red and hot. “It’s not…right,” she muttered, and she tried to tuck her feet underneath the chair, out of Thorin’s reach.

“This is some strange Hobbit custom,” Thorin said slowly, and Bella closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten in her mind, to keep from snapping at him once more. She was just so weary, and cold, and miserable. And Thorin kept being so – so – 

“Why are you trying to help me?” she asked him then, plaintive and sounding more than a little pathetic. “You don’t even like me.”

“I am sorry that you think so,” Thorin replied. She thought perhaps he looked disappointed, or saddened, but then he reached out and tapped her knee. “Your feet, mistress,” he said. “They need tending. Will you allow me?”

Bella would have argued that she could easily clean her own feet – or that, if she could not, somebody else would be more fitted to the task. Bofur was her good friend, and she would let him clean her feet, she thought. Or perhaps Oin, who was, after all, a medic. Or even Dori, who had a tender heart and a need to look after others. But none of them knelt before her now. There was only Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, kneeling before her chair, his hand outstretched and his gaze steady upon her face.

It was a heady feeling, one that Bella was not immune to, not when she’d spent half the journey wishing that – 

Her cheeks were burning; she lifted her hands to them, hoping to cool the flush. Thorin watched her, but said nothing. Bella hoped he thought it was simply fever; she didn’t think she could bear to think that he knew of her foolish, foolish feelings. 

A crush, Bella thought sternly to herself. She should call it what it was, and it was an idiotic crush, such as any tween might have. Thorin was an arrogant, hard-headed, stubborn – king, she reminded herself, he was a king, and he would rule under the Mountain, assuming they managed to claw it back from the dragon’s clutches, and what was a Hobbit compared to that? Not a young Hobbit, either. Bella was a middle-aged spinster, and she’d been quite happy to be one, before Thorin Oakenshield had knocked on her door.

It was just a crush, that was all, and there was no reason for her to blush now, when he knelt before her and asked to touch her feet. He would never look to her for companionship; why should he?

“Mistress Baggins?” he prompted, and Bella shook herself from her imprudent thoughts. 

“I can do it myself,” she said. “You don’t have to – I mean, you’ve got better things to do, surely.” She sneezed, and wished – not for the first time on this journey – for a pocket handkerchief. 

“There is little else as important,” Thorin said – or at least, that’s what she thought he said. It was a little hard to hear, for he mumbled a little and her sneeze had set off a whole series of sneezes, until her eyes were watering and her nose was stinging.

When she had wiped her eyes on the dirty, bedraggled sleeve of her jacket – she would mourn this jacket, she thought ruefully, for it was hardly even fit for rags now – Thorin had risen and was at the fireplace. Ori had crept into the room unheard, and Bella noticed that he too had shed his boots. His socks, unlike Kili’s, had no holes in them. He had brought firewood, both kindling and bigger logs, and a pair of flints for lighting a fire. Thorin took the wood from him and laid it by the grate.

“My thanks,” Thorin said to Ori, who ducked his head. Ori glanced at Bella, then his gaze skittered away, and Bella wished she had managed to control her temper better, for she counted Ori as a friend and didn’t want to upset him. She’d just had enough, and was feeling so ill, and she’d not quite been able to help herself.

She would seek him out once she was feeling better, she resolved, and apologise.

“Bombur’s got a stew on,” Ori said then, to Thorin more than to Bella. “And Dori’s sorting out the hot water. He’ll be up in a minute.” He scuttled away then, making hardly a noise in his socks. 

“I’ve upset him,” Bella murmured. “I didn’t mean to.”

“None of us are upset with you,” Thorin said. He didn’t turn to look at her; instead he knelt and began to build a fire. “You have nothing to reproach yourself for, Mistress Baggins. We should take better care of you.”

His comment rekindled a spark of anger in her, and Bella sat up straight and glowered at him. 

“I hoped I’d proven that I don’t need taking care of!” she said sharply. Perhaps she had been ill-equipped, at the start of the journey – perhaps she had ached and hungered and complained more than a little. But she was a changed Hobbit, and she’d thought he’d seen that. It was no meek and mild gentle-Hobbit who had saved him from Azog, or who had killed giant spiders, or rescued them all from the dungeons of the Elven palace. She was weary and unwell, but she could perfectly well take care of herself, if Thorin would only give her peace and quiet and a few days of rest.

“Calm, mistress, that is not what I meant,” Thorin said, glancing up at her. He was smiling now, a proper smile such as she had rarely seen on him. Bella stared, taken aback a little, her anger dampened by the sight of it. 

“What – what did you mean, then?” she managed to ask. 

“Only that we are a company, and should take care of each other,” Thorin said. He turned away from her and struck the flint, sending a spray of sparks into the kindling. The sparks caught at the wood, and Thorin tended it carefully, coaxing forth flames and then adding a little more kindling and, at length, a log. “There,” he said, and stood up. “This room will warm nicely, soon.”

“Yes,” Bella murmured. She watched the play of firelight across his face, but glanced away quickly when he turned his head to look at her, not wanting him to catch her staring. “I – yes,” she said, “thank you.” Her throat was tickling again, forewarning a cough, and Bella pressed a fist against her mouth and tried to will it away. But the cough came, and she bent forwards and felt as though her throat was scraped raw with it.

Thorin’s hand was at her back, bracing her, and she could feel his warmth even through her clothes. He said something, but it was barely a whisper and she couldn’t hear it – nor did she care right now, because there was a bed only a few paces from her and she wanted nothing more than to be in it, right now. She didn’t care that she was sore and wet and that her feet needed a good wash; she just wanted to be lying down on the bed, under a pile of blankets.

Bella began to lever herself out of the chair, but Thorin put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Bella moaned. “Why do you keep manhandling me like I’m a piece of baggage? I just want to get into bed!” She was perfectly capable of getting herself to the bed, and into it, thank you very much – and she certainly didn’t need Thorin Oakenshield to carry her there, whatever he might think.

“Your feet,” Thorin reminded her firmly – stubbornly, Bella thought to herself, and she scowled up at him. She would have told him that her feet were none of his business – honestly, he was worse than any tween – but Dori came up the stairs then, and along the landing to Bella’s bedroom, carrying a bowl of steaming water and a pile of folded linen cloths. 

Thorin stepped away from Bella rather abruptly; Bella missed his warm hands at once, and scolded herself thoroughly for it.

“Here we are,” Dori said briskly. “Hot water – mind now, it’s barely off the stove – and some cloths.” He put the bowl down beside the fire, and the cloths beside it, and then he clucked disapprovingly at Bella. “You need to get out of those wet things,” he advised her. “I’ll see if I can find something. Bofur’s had a rummage and found a trunk full of old clothes, there’s surely something that will fit you.”

“Thank you,” said Bella, deeply grateful. She wasn’t sure her clothes could be salvaged, but even if anything was still wearable, it needed to be dried and she needed something to have on in the meantime. And, she realised happily, it would probably be something _clean_. Even if she couldn’t manage to have a proper wash – and she rather doubted that she could, given how ill she was feeling – she would have clean clothes.

“Aye,” said Thorin. “Thank you, Dori. The stew?”

“A little while,” said Dori, giving Bella an apologetic shrug. “But there’s some tea. I’ll brew you a cup, shall I?” Bella nodded, and Dori retreated down the landing and back down the staircase. 

“And now,” said Thorin, “your feet.”

Bella looked up at him. He stood with arms folded, determination written across his face, a firmness of purpose about him that she had seen before. She sighed, and wearily nodded her head. There was no point refusing any longer, she reasoned to herself, and she _was_ tired, and aching, and perhaps she could allow herself this indulgence. Thorin didn’t know about Hobbits and their feet, after all. He wouldn’t know how intimate it was.

Thorin fetched the bowl of water, and several of the linen cloths, and he knelt once more before her chair. Bella stretched her feet out, and barely flinched when Thorin cradled her right foot in his hands. He soaked a cloth and carefully – almost tenderly, she thought wistfully – cleaned the leathery sole of her foot.

“You have such strange feet,” he mused. “Do halflings never wear shoes?”

“Hobbits,” Bella corrected him, and he huffed a quiet laugh. “And yes, sometimes,” she said then. “In winter, if the snow is bad. Not like your boots, though. Just thin leather slippers, really.” He touched a particularly painful spot, and she hissed through her teeth. Thorin paused for a moment, but did not apologise. When he resumed cleaning her foot, and the long cut on her sole, he seemed to be trying to be even more careful than before.

The hot water itself was painful, but Bella knew that pain. She could feel it in her fingers as well, now that the fire was gaining strength in the grate, and soon enough her nose and ears would follow suit. She’d been too cold, and now the warmth was seeping back into her extremities, and it hurt.

Thorin finished cleaning the soles of her feet, and Bella lifted up her right foot to inspect the damage. The cut looked better, now it was clean, and she thought it would heal quickly enough.

“How did it happen?” Thorin asked her, as he set aside a dirty cloth and took up another clean one. “The rest of your injuries are not so severe.” Bella began to answer, but a sneeze cut her off. “Here,” said Thorin, sounding a little amused. He held up a cloth, and she took it and used it as a handkerchief. Thorin began to clean the top of her feet now, carefully grooming the hair there, and Bella reminded herself once more that he had no idea how intimate a gesture this was for Hobbits.

“There was a particularly sharp rock,” she answered him, when she had finished blowing her nose and felt a little better for it. “And I didn’t get my feet out of the way.” Thorin harrumphed, a disapproving sound, and finished with her right foot. He moved on to the left, and his questing fingers searched out the bruised spot where Fili had trodden on her. “Ouch!” Bella exclaimed, tugging her foot away instinctively. But Thorin held on firmly and wouldn’t let her go. “For goodness sake,” Bella fussed. “My feet are clean. Will you kindly –,”

“No,” Thorin interrupted. He lifted one eyebrow when she stared at him, and then he resumed washing her foot. Bella took a deep breath – or tried to, but the air caught in her throat and she coughed again, harsh and dry. When at last the coughs ceased, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

Thorin worked in silence, and when her feet were clean he took her hands and cleaned those too. She didn’t know why he was doing this. He wouldn’t do as much for any other member of the company – not even his nephews, not that either Fili or Kili would allow such treatment. She was the only female, of course, but he had never treated her with any particular care before now.

Except when they had all been climbing into the barrels, in the cellar of the elven palace. He had looked at her then, and demanded to know how she would escape, and she’d been surprised at how concerned he’d seemed.

Still, it was confusing, and she couldn’t puzzle out a reason for it, for the gentleness of his touch and the way he so carefully washed her hands as he had washed her feet. He did, she conceded, think more of her than he had done when they first met – but that was hardly saying anything. He’d thought her a burden, a soft creature who would only need protecting. He respected her a little more now, and he’d said as much – he’d said that he had been wrong about her – but still, that was no reason for his actions now.

“You’ve lost weight,” Thorin murmured then, his hand encircling her wrist. Bella opened her eyes and looked down. His thumb rested on her wrist bone, his fingers wrapped around the wrist and completing a circle. Her wrist bone had not protruded so, before she had followed the Dwarves out of the Shire. 

He could break her wrist so easily. He would only need to clench his fist, and she would break in his grasp. But he did not clench his fist; his touch remained gentle. Bella looked at his hand on her wrist, and it took her a moment to respond to what he had said.

“Yes,” she said then. “I have.” She’d had to ask Nori to make new holes in her belt in Mirkwood, to hold her skirt up, but she was thinner now than she had been then. Her shirt hung from her, and her waistcoat was loose. But they had all lost weight, for though the Dwarves had been fed in their dungeon cells, they had endured weeks of starvation rations before then as they travelled hopelessly through Mirkwood.

She frowned then, and shook her head. “We’ve all lost weight,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d looked enough to notice it, in me.” It was another piece of the puzzle, but Bella was too ill, too weary and too hungry to be able to put the pieces together. 

“I have eyes, mistress,” Thorin said mildly. He released her hand, and Bella missed the warmth of it at once. He wet another cloth and held it up to her. “For your face,” he said.

Bella pursed her lips, because that was no kind of answer, but she took the cloth and scrubbed her face clean. The white cloth turned grey, and when she held it back out for him to take, she could see a smear of blood on it. She lifted a hand to touch her forehead; there was a scrape there, she could feel, but nothing more serious. She must have dislodged the scab, but it would soon scab over once more.

“I’m going to bed now,” she announced. “And if you try to stop me, Thorin Oakenshield, I shall –,”

“Peace,” he interrupted her, holding his hands up in supplication. “Peace, I have no objection. But do you not want to wait for Dori to find you something clean to wear?”

Bella huffed a sigh. “Yes,” she said, hating to admit he was right. “Oh, very well. But get up, please. It’s ridiculous, you kneeling there.” She was only a Hobbit, after all, and he was a king – a hard-headed, reckless king who seemed to place no value on his own life, but a king nonetheless. “It’s not right,” she added, because it _wasn’t_ right. It was wholly improper.

“Not right,” Thorin repeated. He stared up at her, incredulous, and Bella was startled by it. He looked almost surprised that she should think so. “Not right?” he demanded of her, “when you have saved my life, and the lives of everyone in the Company? When without you, we would still be languishing in Thranduil’s dungeons?”

Bella felt sure she had turned bright red. She lifted her hands and hid her face behind them. 

“I didn’t –,” she began, but Thorin cut her off again.

“You were right, downstairs,” he said to her. “We have all been ungrateful. Thank you, Mistress Baggins, for what you have done for this quest. And for what you have done for me.”

Bella refused to cry again. She refused. Just because Thorin had finally showed a gracious side of himself to her didn’t mean she would allow herself to cry again. She took a deep breath, and another, and then the air caught in her throat again and she coughed, long and hard, until she was breathless and her chest was aching.

“Here now, what’s this?”

Bofur was standing in the doorway, staring at Thorin with something like disapproval in his expression. He held a large, Man-sized cup in his hands, and steam drifted slowly up from it – the tea Dori had promised her, Bella assumed. He had something over his shoulder, as well, some sort of clothing, perhaps a shirt or a shift. Bofur didn’t step into the bedroom; he stayed in the doorway, staring hard at Thorin, until Thorin rose and stepped away from Bella. Only then did Bofur come in, giving Thorin a final cold look before he came to Bella. 

“Here you go,” he said. He was trying to sound cheerful, Bella thought, but it was forced, as if something was bothering him. “One cup of tea, as ordered.” He handed over the large cup with a flourishing bow that made Bella smile. That seemed to have been Bofur’s intention, and his cheer became more genuine. “Ah, that’s better,” he praised her. “It’s chamomile. Oin put some honey in it, for your throat.”

“Thank you,” Bella said. She held the cup with both hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “You’re very kind – I’m sorry for shouting.” She was still breathless, and it was a struggle to get the words out. Her chest hurt, and her head hurt, and the growing warmth in the room was only making her cold clothes feel more uncomfortable.

“Ah, no worries, lass,” said Bofur easily. “I’d have yelled too, if that great lummock had landed on my bare foot.” Thorin cleared his throat; Bella glanced up to see him standing with arms folded across his chest, a dark look levelled at Bofur. She couldn’t understand it. Bofur got along with everyone, and she knew Thorin liked and trusted him. These dark looks, the glares between them – it was new, and strange, and uncomfortable.

She sipped her hot tea, and closed her eyes for a few moments. Bed, she resolved to herself. Bed.

“Right,” said Bofur then, clearing his throat. “I’ll go back down. You call if you need anything, Bella, d’you hear?”

“Yes, Bofur,” she said, opening her eyes again. “I’ll be fine once I’m in bed, I’m sure.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Bofur said, snapping his fingers. He pulled the article of clothing from over his shoulder and held it up for Bella to see. It was a Man’s shirt, old and worn. The cuffs were fraying, and only a few buttons remained on the front of it. Still, it would be long enough to serve as a nightdress for Bella, and she was grateful for it. She slid off the chair and put the large cup down on the floor so she could take the shirt from him.

”Thank you,” she said fervently. “Bofur, I could kiss you. Tea _and_ dry clothes!” 

Thorin made a choking sound, which turned into a cough. Bella looked at him, startled, and wondered if he, too, was becoming ill. He turned away, a clenched fist at his mouth, and Bofur chuckled.

“Ah, think nothing of it,” he said. “Get yourself into bed, now. We’ll leave you be.”

Thorin turned back at that, glowering at Bofur, but Bofur met his gaze and did not flinch. Bella looked between them both with a frown, and then she rushed to find her makeshift handkerchief as another sneeze tickled at her nose. She sneezed four times in a row, and by the end of it, her head was pounding.

“Poor lass,” said Bofur sympathetically, patting her shoulder. “Go on, now. Someone will be up in a bit with some stew, then you get some sleep.” Bella sniffed and nodded, and watched as Thorin sighed a deep sigh and moved towards the door.

“I shall return soon,” he told her. Bella frowned at him, not sure why he should think such a thing necessary, but then Bofur’s hand tightened on her shoulder, and he gave her a gentle shake until she looked up at him.

“Now you listen,” he said, uncharacteristically serious. “You don’t do anything you don’t want, you hear? Nobody’s to put pressure on you.” Thorin said something sharply in Khuzdul, and Bofur snapped something back, harsh enough to make Bella jump and flinch away from him. She had rarely seen him so fierce, and she couldn’t think what he meant by his words. Neither did she particularly care; she held a dry shirt in her hands and she wanted to get out of her cold, damp clothes, and then she wanted to climb into bed with her cup of tea and get properly comfortable.

She pulled herself away from Bofur and scowled at them both.

“Out, the pair of you,” she said, voice low and rasping in her throat. She was surprised to see Thorin flinch at her tone, but it didn’t stop her from being cross with the pair of them. “I am going to bed,” Bella told them. “And I don’t want to see anyone until morning who isn’t bringing me food. Bebother and confusticate Dwarves, can’t I have a few hours to myself, now we’re safe and indoors?”

“I’ll bring you stew shortly,” said Thorin, and he stepped forward and snagged the collar of Bofur’s shirt. “Come,” he ordered, and Bofur made a face but left with Thorin, taking care to close the bedroom door behind him.

Bella took a deep breath that, thankfully, did not result in another cough. Then she went to put another log on the fire, brought the chair closer to the fireplace, and began to strip. First her jacket, so dirtied and torn that it was scarcely recognisable as the same jacket in which she had set out from Bag End. Bella didn’t bother to put that to dry before the fire; she simply dropped it onto the floor and left it there. Her waistcoat was in a little better condition, and she draped that over the back of the chair to dry. It was too loose, and in need of mending, but still serviceable enough. 

Her shirt didn’t bear thinking about, and Bella put it on top of her discarded jacket. 

“The less said about that, the better,” she muttered. Her skirt – well, perhaps that could be mended. The hem was torn out, and there were rips and tears all over it, but she was good with her needle. It was far too big around the middle, but that could be sorted out with a new notch in her belt. She draped the skirt over the seat of the chair, and left her belt coiled on top. 

Her breast binding was dirty and wet, but intact. Bella unwound the whole length of it and let it drop to the floor. Her breasts ached – it had been weeks, she thought, since she’d had the opportunity to properly take off her binding. A few times she’d fiddled with it, tightening it up when her weight loss had required it, but she’d been too scared, in the palace, to even think of undressing.

Her smallclothes also suffered from being damp and filthy, and Bella put all her underthings across the arms of the chair. Hopefully, with the fierce heat now coming from the merry fire, her clothes would dry by morning. She could wear them then, dirty and ragged as they were, until she was able to find something else to wear.

Bella took a moment then to look at herself, to inspect herself in the firelight. Her weight loss was staggering, she admitted when she looked down at a body that seemed strangely unfamiliar. 

“Oh Bella, my girl,” she said to herself with a deep sigh. “If you walked into the Shire like this, they’d think you were about to push up daisies.”

Her skin was loose in places, where the fat beneath had shrunk away. Her bones protruded, hips and elbow joints and collar bone. Her breasts were smaller – never well-endowed, at least not by Hobbit standards, now her breasts were small enough that she could cover them entirely with her hands. Her lower legs were scratched and grazed, and bruises littered her body like autumn leaves on a lawn. There was a particularly large one across her stomach and abdomen, and Bella tried in vain to recall how she had come by it. She must have been struck hard by something, but she couldn’t remember what. Not a rock, she thought, but perhaps it had been a barrel – had one of them hit her? She couldn’t remember.

She was warm enough now to consider a quick wash before she climbed into the bed, despite her weariness and her illness. There was still one clean cloth remaining, and she soaked it and began a cursory wash. Without soap there was little point doing the job thoroughly, but the hot water rinsed enough grime from her limbs and torso that she felt a little cleaner, at least. 

Her hair she could do nothing about, and Bella wondered if there was a pair of scissors or shears to be had, because she knew that nothing short of cutting it would tame the wild, tangled mess. There was no point doing anything tonight, not when she felt so poorly, but perhaps tomorrow she could ask one of the Dwarves to cut it for her.

She coughed again then, dry coughs that scratched at her throat and made her feel as though there was sandpaper inside her chest. Bella had to lean on the arm of the chair, turned weak through lack of breath, and every time she tried to gasp in air she only triggered another cough. Spots danced in her eyes, and suddenly her legs refused to hold her up any longer and she dropped to the floor, her knees smacking against the hard wooden floorboards.

“Bella!”

Bella didn’t have the breath to shriek, but she snatched up the shirt and tried to cover herself up. Her hands were shaking badly, but she clutched the shirt to her front and flinched away when heavy footsteps came across the room towards her.

“I heard – I’m sorry.” The footsteps ceased, but Bella didn’t bother to glance up to see how close Thorin had stopped. She found the hem of the shirt and pulled it over her head, shoved her arms through the sleeves, and yanked the hem down until it covered enough of her to be decent. She was slowly beginning to get her breath back, and after another few moments she felt well enough to look up and glare.

“What are you doing?” she asked – or tried to ask, because her voice was a rasping whisper, and her throat hurt almost unbearably when she tried to get the words out. She swallowed, and that hurt too.

“Come,” said Thorin. He leaned over and held his arms out, and Bella decided to accept the unspoken offer, rather than attempt getting up by herself. She nodded wearily, and at once Thorin gathered her into his arms, straightened, and took her to the bed. The blankets were already pulled back, and he laid her gently onto the sheet, propped up against a pile of pillows. Bella waved him away when he made to tuck her in – as if she was a child, she thought, but couldn’t quite summon indignation. She simply pulled the blankets across herself and closed her eyes for a moment. The pillows were soft, the bed comfortable, and if the sheets were cold, they would soon warm up.

“Better?” Thorin asked her. Bella opened her eyes again and nodded a little. “Good.” He went to fetch her cup of tea, and then made sure she had it safely in her hands before he let go. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress so her legs slid towards him a little. “I’m sorry,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “I heard you coughing, and then a crash.”

Bella sniffed. “Hardly a crash,” she said, forced into a whisper by soreness. She took a sip of tea – it had cooled a little, but she could taste a generous portion of honey, which should help to soothe her throat. Her fatigue was hitting her all over again, now she was in bed and beginning to relax. She wasn’t far from sleep, no matter how much her stomach was gnawing at her.

She had slept through hunger before, many times, on this quest. And before then, too – as a child in the Shire, during the Fell Winter. Bella had suffered hunger then, although she had never been as near starvation as she was now. Her parents had made sure of that, even as they themselves grew thinner and weaker as every week passed.

“I am sorry,” Thorin said again. He couldn’t seem to meet her gaze – embarrassed, perhaps, although Bella knew he couldn’t have seen more than he ever had before. The road did not allow much privacy, and Bella had grown used to that eventually. Thorin had surely seen her bare back before, although probably not more. 

Bella shrugged and sipped her tea. She would not chastise him for entering without knocking. Perhaps he had truly been concerned, and she liked that idea, even if it was an illusion. If he cared, then…

No, she told herself crossly, it would not do. 

“You didn’t have to come back,” she said at last, when it became clear that Thorin was awaiting an answer. “I’ll be asleep soon.” She left unsaid the suggestion that Thorin must have better things to do, allowing herself the weakness of thinking that perhaps he cared for her a little.

“The stew will be ready shortly,” Thorin said, looking at her at last, his eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed her. “You must eat, mistress, and regain your strength.”

“You called me Bella,” she remembered suddenly. Thorin exhaled and leaned forwards, bracing his arms on his knees. His hair fell across his face, concealing his expression from her. She almost wanted to reach out and tuck it back, behind his ear, but instead she simply gripped her cup a little tighter. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me Bella before,” she added. “Everyone else does, you know.”

“I know,” said Thorin, practically biting the words out. It was as if he was offended by the familiarity the others showed in using her name, but Bella couldn’t think why. They used her name, and she used theirs – only Thorin still called her Mistress Baggins, as if she were yet a stranger. As if she didn’t know that he preferred to sleep on his right side, that he enjoyed music, that he couldn’t find his way if it were laid out for him with a trail of glow worms to follow.

“I don’t mind,” Bella said at length, when she had drunk fully half of her chamomile tea without Thorin saying another word. “Either way. Just as long as you stop this ‘halfling’ nonsense.”

Thorin huffed a laugh at that, and sat up straight, turning towards her once more so she could see his face.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall endeavour to remember.” He was teasing her, Bella saw, and it delighted her. She smiled at him, and Thorin almost smiled back. It was almost companionable, being here with Thorin. The fire crackled merrily in the grate, making the room feel comfortably warm. The pillows behind her were soft. The tea was soothing her throat a little, and her headache was lessening – although she had no doubt it would come back, if she had another fit of coughing or sneezing. Thorin wasn’t talkative, but at least he wasn’t glaring at her or rebuking her. She could almost pretend he was here because he liked her, rather than – 

Well, she didn’t know why he was here, and speculation would only end up hurting her in the end. Bella had to protect herself as much as she could. 

“Tell me why I should not have touched your feet,” Thorin said then. It wasn’t a request, but it didn’t feel quite like an order, either. Bella curled her toes beneath the blankets and remembered the feel of his hands as he washed her feet. He didn’t know, she reminded herself. But he had asked. He would be embarrassed if she told him, but she was too weary to think of a clever answer to put him off.

“It’s – it’s very personal,” she said at last, low and faltering. Her throat was yet sore, she excused herself, and that was why she spoke so softly. She tried to find some comparison, some way to explain it to him that he would understand. “Your hair,” Bella murmured. Thorin leaned a little closer, brow furrowed in confusion. Bella nodded firmly and finished her tea before continuing. “If I were to brush your hair,” she said, “or put your braids in – that would be intimate, yes?” Thorin was staring at her, a strange expression on his face, his lips parted as if he wanted to speak. But Bella didn’t allow him the chance. “It’s really only acceptable for family to touch one another’s feet,” she said. “Just like you sometimes let Fili or Kili braid your hair.”

“Not Kili,” Thorin muttered, an absent-minded aside. It made Bella smile – she might have laughed, had her chest not ached so. Kili could barely keep his own hair in order, let alone anyone else’s.

“Parents, or siblings,” she added then. “Or – well, or spouses.” She cleared her throat and instantly wished she hadn’t, because it _hurt_. Still, it didn’t lead to more coughing, and Bella would count every small blessing that she could. Her nose twitched, though, and she realised with dismay that she had left her handkerchief beside the fire.

“Could you put this down?” she asked Thorin, holding out the large cup. “And – my handkerchief – it’s by the fire.” Thorin acquiesced, and took the cup from her, although he gave her a wry look as he did so.

“I have not played nursemaid since Kili was young and in bed with pneumonia,” he said, rising and going to the fireplace. He put the cup down beside the bowl of water, found the cloth she was using as a handkerchief, and then paused to add another log to the fire. “My sister and I shared his raising,” he said, and returned to sit on the bed again. “And Fili’s, too, although his father was still alive when Fili was young. Kili was sick in bed for three weeks together, and by the end of it I knew more about nursing than I ever wanted to know.”

Bella was fascinated. Rarely had Thorin directed so many words to her before, and never had he spoken of anything so personal. He spoke of Erebor, of the quest, of whether one route was better than another – but rarely of anything like this. She took the handkerchief he offered, but the urge to sneeze seemed to have passed. She felt drowsy now, not merely weary, and she was quite sure she would fall asleep soon, no matter what Thorin said about her needing to eat. Her poor, abused muscles were finally beginning to relax. After weeks of being afraid to sleep too deeply, of sleeping on cold floors in cramped, out of the way corners of the palace, her body was pulling her inexorably towards the bliss of a good night’s sleep in a good bed.

“You’re not my nursemaid,” she murmured, closing her eyes once more and tugging the blankets a little higher up. “I don’t know why you’re here at all.” She hadn’t meant to say that, and she berated herself for it at once. Twice already Bella had suggested that Thorin should leave, that he must have better things to do, and that she could manage by herself. Twice he had ignored her, and stayed with her. She didn’t know why he should do that, and she was afraid of hearing words of obligation and gratitude. 

Thorin took her hand in his, and Bella opened her eyes at once. His hand was warm, his fingers calloused, and he was looking at her with an intense focus. Bella licked her lips, nervous suddenly without quite knowing why; to cover her nerves, she cleared her throat and then, inevitably, ended up coughing again. She used her free hand to cover her mouth, sat up a little more, and coughed until she couldn’t breathe from it and tears had formed in her eyes.

Thorin had come nearer while she was coughing; he sat close beside her now, an arm supporting her back, his other hand still holding hers.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Slow breaths.” Bella was clutching at his hand, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to worry about what he thought of her for that. His arm moved; he began to rub her back, slow and gentle, and somehow Bella found herself leaning on him, her head resting against his shoulder. He was a solid anchor, holding her upright, the heat of his body making her wish that she could curl up and let him warm her forever.

Bella Baggins, she told herself crossly, you are in very real danger of doing something extremely foolish. 

She didn’t know how long they sat together like that – their fingers entwined together, his arm around her and his hand rubbing up and down her back, slow sweeps up and down her spine, fingers trailing across every bump of bone beneath her skin. It might be almost sensual, except Bella was so ill, so wrung out with exhaustion and illness and hunger, that there was simply nothing left in her to feel anything other than wretched.

“I am here,” Thorin said at last, his voice a low murmur close to her ear, “because I wish to be here.” He disentangled his hand from hers, and put his arm around her, so she was encircled by him, held in his arms. Bella closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, but couldn’t quite manage to speak. “I have watched you,” he continued, still in that low, intimate voice, “and I have grown to know you, Belladonna Baggins.”

“You don’t like me,” she whispered. “You won’t even use my name.” He trusted her – he had shown that – but he had never shown any liking for her apart from that one, far-too-brief moment on the Carrock, when he had told her that he had been mistaken about her, and then hugged her close. Apart from then, she had never had any inkling that Thorin thought of her with anything close to liking. She had earned his acceptance, and his trust, but Bella had never seen any hint that he considered her as anything other than a member of his company. No soft words or kind looks, and before tonight no particular attentions.

“Bella,” he said. And again: “Bella.” Bella shook her head and, almost involuntarily, lifted her hand to try to push him away. Somehow she didn’t; somehow she clutched the front of his shirt. Thorin shifted a little, bringing himself closer to her. One hand settled in the small of her back, and the other went to cradle her head. “I have not used your name because I dared not allow myself the privilege,” Thorin told her. “I have not treated you well; I do not deserve your kindness, let alone…” He trailed off and sighed; Bella felt it rumbling through her, pressed against him as she was. Then he gave a mirthless laugh. “My sister would say that my skills lie on the battlefield, not the council chamber,” he said. “I am no match for you in words, mistress.”

Bella did push him away then; she released her handful of his shirt and pushed at his chest. She had no strength left in her – certainly not to match his – but he pulled away and took his arms from around her. She looked up at his face, saw his concerned expression, the wideness of his eyes and the tilt of his head.

“Speak plainly,” she said. “I don’t want pretty words, Thorin.” Something seemed to ease in him at that; he closed his eyes for a moment and moved his lips without speaking. Then he took her hand in both of his and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles – her poor, grazed knuckles – and then turned her hand and kissed her palm. His beard and whiskers tickled at her skin, but not unpleasantly. 

“Plainly, then,” he said. He kissed her hand again, and Bella pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound. “I would court you, Bella. I would earn your love, as you have earned mine.” 

Bella lifted her free hand to her head; her headache had returned, and she felt cold again, and she could not seem to understand what Thorin was saying to her.

“But you’ve never – you don’t – ,” she stammered. Thorin waited patiently, watching her with quiet intensity. Bella took a breath and tried again. “I thought you didn’t like me,” she said. “You’ve never treated me like…”

A cough overcame her, making her hunch forwards. Thorin braced her again, holding her shoulders so she did not fall over in the bed. She coughed and coughed until she was almost retching, and when at last she had her breath back, Bella leaned back against the pillows and Thorin tucked the blankets close around her. She had begun to shiver, just a little.

“I am dreaming,” she said in a whisper. “I am dreaming and in the morning I will wake up and this will not be real.” Thorin began to say something, but he was interrupted by somebody coming up the stairs and along the landing. 

It was Dori, bearing a tray with a steaming bowl of stew upon it. He smiled when he saw her in the bed, and nodded approval.

“That’s right,” he said. “A good night’s sleep and you’re sure to feel better in the morning. Here’s your stew – eat it up before you fall asleep.” He put the tray in her lap, and somehow nudged Thorin back without touching him or uttering a word. Thorin ended up at the foot of the bed, and Bella might have smiled at his disgruntled expression, but her tray was shaking a little, her legs shivering beneath the blankets, and she had to bring her hands out from the blankets to hold the tray firmly.

“Are you cold, Bella?” Dori asked, frowning a little. He exchanged a glance with Thorin, and then put a hand on Bella’s forehead. 

“Yes,” she said. She managed to steady the tray, but she wasn’t quite sure she could lift the bowl and eat the stew. Her shivering was getting worse by the minute, and she felt so cold again – as cold as she had in the palace, sneaking around with her ring on, scared and hungry and oh so cold, all warmth leeched away from her somehow, no matter what she did. “I did get warm,” she added once Dori had taken his hand from her forehead, “but I’m cold again now.”

“Hm.” Dori fussed with her blankets, then straightened and turned to Thorin. “A touch of fever,” he said to Thorin. “She may need help eating.”

“I am perfectly capable – ,“ Bella began, but then she sneezed, and the tray almost went flying. Stew slopped over the side of the bowl even as Thorin reached out to rescue the tray, and Bella looked miserably from Thorin to Dori, who were both implacable.

“Just for tonight,” Dori said, trying to soothe her. “Be sensible, Bella dear. Now, I’ll fetch you a hot brick while you eat your supper, and then you’d better try to sleep.”

Bella wiped her nose with her handkerchief and scowled at nothing in particular.

“I’m not a fauntling,” she grumbled. “I’m perfectly capable of –,”

“Let us care for you,” Thorin interrupted her. He moved back up the bed, so he was seated beside her, and he lifted a spoonful of stew from the bowl. “Your hands are shaking,” he pointed out. His eyes were fixed on hers, his gaze clear and direct, and Bella thought about what he had said and remembered the feel of his mouth on her palm. He wanted to care for her, she thought hesitantly, and it was not that he thought her incapable or feeble. He wanted to court her. Could it be true? Bella thought perhaps she was already asleep. Certainly everything had taken on a hazy sort of quality, as if she were dreaming it all. 

At last Bella nodded, and Dori patted her shoulder in approval.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll be back in a while with your hot brick.” He added a log to the fire and took the bowl of water and dirty rags with him when he left. 

“Here,” said Thorin, bringing the spoon to her mouth. Bella sighed, but opened her mouth and accepted the food – as if she were a mere babe, she thought, torn between embarrassment and irritation. Still, the stew was good, plenty of vegetables and a rich gravy, and Bella practically moaned when she tasted good beef, of the like she’d not had since leaving the Shire. She’d thought the Men of Lake-town lived mostly on fish, but there was good grazing land here too – she’d seen glimpses of it, as she had drifted along the river clinging onto an empty barrel. But still, beef was not a cheap meat, and Bella knew it must have been gifted to the company in expectation of great reward, once Erebor was reclaimed.

“Good?” Thorin asked, and Bella nodded. Thorin heaped the spoon again and fed it to her. His hand was steady as rock, spilling not a drop of the gravy. “Fauntling is your word for child?” he asked her then, and Bella swallowed her mouthful and nodded again.

“Yes,” she said. “Fauntlings before they reach their tweens.”

“Tweens,” Thorin repeated, raising one eyebrow in curiosity. “Tweens and fauntlings.” There was something in his voice that told of amusement, and Bella opened her mouth to tell him that he had no right to be amused at her language – not that it was really a language, simply a collection of words left over from before Hobbits had settled in the Shire – but Thorin forestalled her argument by giving her another spoonful of stew. She glared at him as she chewed, but he merely offered her a smile that was far too charming for her own good.

“That wasn’t fair,” she said, when she had finished her mouthful. Then she yawned. It took her by surprise, and she hardly had time to bring her hand to cover her mouth. Once she had started yawning, she couldn’t seem to stop; she yawned three times in a row and then she put her hand back under the blanket, because she was simply far too cold to expose any more skin than necessary.

“A little more,” Thorin said, “and then I’ll leave you to sleep.” He held another spoonful of stew for her to take. Bella could see into the bowl, and could see that she’d eaten hardly any of the stew. But she was so tired, and she wasn’t sure she could eat much more without beginning to feel nauseated. Still, she let him put the spoonful in her mouth, and chewed and swallowed dutifully. 

The haziness she had noticed earlier seemed to be growing, for she couldn’t quite seem to focus on Thorin. She could see blue eyes and dark hair, but couldn’t make out his expression. 

Bella knew this feeling. She had felt it before – just once before, some years ago, after her mother had died. Rose Greenhand had given her some herbs to help her sleep, because Bella had suffered cruelly from insomnia for some weeks. The herbs had worked, but they had made her feel like this, as if the world was spinning and she could not keep her balance. She could not order her thoughts; she could barely even keep her eyes open.

“In the stew,” she tried to say, but the words were slurred and she could not imagine that Thorin had understood. “What’s…” She couldn’t manage to speak; her eyes closed without her willing it. She could feel Thorin tucking the blankets around her, and then the touch of his hand on her cheek.

“Rest well, Bella,” Thorin said. He sounded closer to her, and in a moment she felt the brush of his mouth against her cheek. “You will allow me this much,” he murmured, and Bella would allow him more, but whatever herbs had been put into the stew were potent, and in another few heartbeats she was fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Bella did not wake quickly. 

It had been many weeks since she had felt safe enough to indulge in a leisurely awakening; the turning over in bed in search of a more comfortable position, the cocooning of warm blankets around her, the knowledge that there was no walking to be done today and nothing she had to do other than nurse herself through this cold. No orcs, no trolls, no damp tunnels or freezing rivers. She only had to leave her bed to seek out food and a privy; otherwise she could stay buried in the blankets all day. It was a luxurious feeling.

Her feet were warm. It was some time before Bella was awake enough to realise that there was a hot, towel-wrapped brick tucked into the bed by her feet. Somebody must have put it there, Bella thought. She had some memory of Dori saying he would bring her one, but that had been last night, and now daylight streamed around the edges of the curtain at the window. That meant that somebody had thought to give her a fresh brick this morning, not long ago. That was a nice thought, and Bella wriggled her toes closer to the brick and smiled into the pillow.

Her throat still hurt, and her chest ached, so Bella supposed she must have been coughing through the night. Why had it not woken her up? She couldn’t quite remember; nor could she remember falling asleep, except…

There had been something in the stew, Bella remembered, and with that the last vestiges of sleep left her, although she did not move from her pile of blankets. Something in the stew. 

Sleeping herbs. Those dratted Dwarves had put a sleeping draught in her stew.

Bella stopped feeling pleased about the hot brick at her feet. She threw the blankets off her head and huffed irritably. Those interfering busybodies, she thought crossly. She would have slept easily enough without the herbs. There’d been no need for anybody to drug her. It must have been Oin, because she couldn’t imagine most of the other Dwarves knowing a sleeping draught from a poison.

Aided and abetted by Dori and Thorin, Bella thought, and she scowled up at the ceiling. Those meddling – rock-headed – patronising – 

She huffed another irritated huff, but unfortunately that sent her into a coughing spasm. Bella rolled onto her side and coughed until she felt wrung out from it, weak and exhausted and wretched. A good night’s sleep did not seem to have made as much difference to her illness as she had hoped.

She was about to sit up when the bedroom door opened and Bofur’s head appeared in the gap between door and frame. Bella propped herself up on her elbows and offered him a smile. Bofur, she thought, would not have been party to any nonsense about medicating her into sleep.

“Good morning,” she said. 

Bofur beamed at her, his whole expression radiating joy, and he came into the room properly.

“Afternoon, you mean,” he said. “You’ve near slept the day away, Bella.” She scowled at him, and Bofur had the grace to look chagrined. His smile fell, and he edged closer to the bed. “Aye, well, I didn’t know about _that_ ,” he said. “I gave Oin a good earful about that. Not that he could hear me, mind.” He was close to the bed now, close enough to reach out and gingerly pat her leg through the blankets. “How’re you feeling now?” he asked her. “Any better?”

“I…” Bella shrugged, as much as she could in her current position, and shook her head a little. “Not so tired,” she said. “But I think somebody has been using my lungs as a cheese grater.” Bofur laughed at that, and it lifted Bella’s spirits a little to see her friend so cheerful. She sat up, rearranging her pillows so she could prop herself up against them, and Bofur sat down on the edge of the bed.

He sat where Thorin had sat the night before, and Bella frowned a little, trying to remember something. He had said something important, she thought. Something…what was it he had said? Something about courting, perhaps. But that didn’t seem right. She could remember him cleaning her feet and hands, and feeding her stew.

She could remember him kissing her hand, but Bella was sure that couldn’t be right. Nor could it be right that he had spoken of love. She had had a fever, she reasoned to herself, and she had got her dreams mixed up with reality. That was all. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, would never – he would never – 

“Bella?” Bofur questioned gently, and Bella blinked several times and looked at him. He was worried now, the smile entirely gone. “Poor lass,” he said then. “You’ve had a rough time of it. You were coughing all night long, you know. Oin forced something down your throat at one point, or you’d like as not have been coughing blood by the end of it.” 

He sounded horribly serious, so Bella reached out for his hand and smiled once more. 

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Right as rain, long before Durin’s Day.”

“Bother Durin’s Day,” said Bofur, unexpectedly fierce. Bella was taken aback, but Bofur continued. “You gave me a right scare, lass. I’d rather have you well than a hundred mountains, you know.” He cleared his throat and looked away, but his hand held hers tightly until she spoke again.

“Better not let Thorin hear you say that,” Bella teased after a long moment. “Nothing’s worth more than his Mountain, to him.”

Bofur snorted and glanced back at her, a curious, questioning look. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said. Bella opened her mouth to speak, but found she had nothing to say. She wasn’t sure why Bofur had said that – because she was right, nothing was more important to Thorin than Erebor, perhaps not even his nephews. Bofur muttered something under his breath and swiped a hand across his eyes. “Did, uh…did Thorin say anything to you, last night?” he asked her then.

“He said lots of things,” said Bella. Bofur looked at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and Bella bit her lip for a moment. “I don’t really remember much about last night,” she admitted at last. “I think he thanked me, for getting you all out of the prison? But I don’t know.”

“Ah.” Bofur nodded and couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Nothing about giving you a bead, say?”

“A bead?” Bella shook her head and tried to remember more about last night. Thorin had…what had he said? Something about Kili as a child, she remembered, and something about her name. He hadn’t allowed himself the privilege of using her name, that was what he had said. But nothing about a bead, certainly. Bella felt quite sure she would remember that. “No,” she said to Bofur, “I don’t think he said anything about a bead. Or about giving me anything at all.”

“Did he not?” Bofur was displeased; his moustache twitched as he scowled. Bella couldn’t think why, for there was no reason why Thorin should give her anything. But Bofur looked grim and fierce suddenly, and she remembered that he had looked so last night, when he had come in with a cup of tea and found Thorin kneeling before her. Bofur had told her that she mustn’t do anything she didn’t want to do. She recalled that with perfect clarity – which only made her more frustrated that other parts of the evening were so hazy.

She sighed, and shook her head. Bofur’s fierceness faded away when he looked at her, whatever he saw enough to make him give her the kindly expression she was used to from her dear friend.

“Ah, never mind,” he said. “You had a fever, that’s why things are a bit out of reach. You’ll remember or you won’t, but I doubt there was anything worth thinking about.” He patted her leg through the blankets. “You feeling up to some food?”

“I’m a Hobbit,” Bella said, trying to force a cheerful smile for him. “It takes a lot to make us feel too ill for food.” And she _was_ feeling better, at least a little. Her chest ached, her throat was sore, but at least she had no headache, and she could breathe through her nose. She was no longer shivering from cold, which was a good sign, for it meant her fever had been brief. Surely, she reasoned to herself, another night’s sleep, and more good food, would set her right. 

She was determined that there would be no reason to delay their onwards journey for her sake – no risk of missing Durin’s Day. The dragon was yet to be faced, but Bella would not be the reason for the quest’s failure. She could not disappoint Thorin. She would not.

“Alright, then,” said Bofur, oblivious to her thoughts. “I’ll go and see what I can rustle up. Oin’ll probably want to see you now you’re awake, as well.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a bath, once I’ve eaten?” Bella asked hopefully. She was a little cleaner than she had been, thanks to her cursory wash last night, but she still felt sweaty and dirty, and her hair was a mass of knots and grease. 

“Of course,” said Bofur as he stood up. “There’s a nice big tub we can haul up for you. I’ll get the lads to bring the hot water – Fili wants to see you anyway. Dwalin struck terror into his heart last night, for being so careless – he wants to say he’s sorry.” 

Bella made a face and shook her head. “He needn’t,” she said. “I know it was an accident. I over-reacted.” She paused, processing what he had said. “Dwalin,” she said. “Why should Dwalin –,” She cut herself off and held up a hand to stop any explanations Bofur could give. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t want to know.”

Bofur chuckled. “Aye, I don’t blame you, lass,” he said. “I’ll get you something to eat, then we’ll sort you out with a bath.” He crossed to the window and pulled back the curtains, letting warm sunlight stream into the room. “Nice day today,” Bofur observed. “Thought you might enjoy a bit of sunshine.”

“You thought right,” said Bella, smiling at him. “Thank you, Bofur.” He grinned at her once more, and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Bella pulled her blankets up a little, and made sure the hot brick was still touching her feet. It was cooling a little, but it was still warm enough to make her toes feet deliciously cosy. Between the hot brick, the fire in the grate, and the sunlight spilling across the bed, Bella felt warmer than she had felt in many a long week. It almost – but only almost – made up for the way her chest and throat felt.

She looked at her thin hand then, and at her lean wrist and arm where the sleeve of her shirt had fallen back to her elbow, and she sighed at the sight. Warmth made up for a lot, but she would need a great many meals to regain the weight she had lost, and she knew they would not stay in Lake-town for any longer than was necessary. After that they would be back to eating travelling fare – dried meats, root vegetables if they could get any, and more cram than anyone wanted.

And after that, she reminded herself, there was a dragon to face. That sent a shiver down her spine, despite how warm she was. Bella generally tried not to think about the dragon, but they were so close now that she couldn’t quite manage to push away the thoughts that crowded in and filled her with dread and fear.

She looked up at the window. She wanted to get out of bed and go to it, to look out at Lake-town and to see if the Mountain was within sight, but she could remember how painful her feet had been yesterday, and Bella was reluctant to incur more pain. But she had had a long night’s rest, she reasoned to herself, and Hobbit feet healed quickly. It was only a few paces, after all. So Bella flung back her blankets and swung her legs around in preparation for standing up. And oh, that hurt. Her whole body ached, her legs and arms and torso, her back and shoulders – every inch of her ached as if…well, she thought to herself with a wry smile, as if she’d taken a trip down a river clinging on to a barrel.

A knock at the door interrupted her before she could stand up – a knock swiftly followed by the opening of the door, as whoever had knocked seemed to lack the patience to wait for a response. When Bella saw who it was, she rolled her eyes and refrained from comment. Patience wasn’t one of Thorin’s virtues, or at least not one that he employed often.

“Bofur said –,” Thorin began, but then he cut himself off and levelled a dark look at her. “You weren’t thinking of getting up?” He stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, and practically glowered at her. He didn’t looked well-rested, Bella noted. He wore clean clothes, but they were not his own. His hair was combed, the braids neat and tidy – although his beads had got lost, somewhere between Beorn’s house and here, so the braids were tied with thread. But he looked tired, as if he had not yet taken advantage of the beds in this house. Bella wondered for a moment what had kept him from sleep.

And then Thorin’s gaze lowered, looking her over from head to toes, and Bella grew uncomfortably aware that the shirt she wore as a nightdress lacked enough buttons to be truly decent. She clutched at the top of the shirt where a missing button bared a little too much of her chest, and tugged ineffectually at a blanket to cover her legs. She was blushing, Bella realised crossly, and gave up on pulling the blanket across her. Instead she got back into bed properly, pulling the blankets up so she was covered up to her throat.

Thorin said nothing. Bella couldn’t quite manage to look at him. She cleared her throat, and was thankful when that did not lead into another bout of coughing.

“Apparently,” she said, “I am _not_ thinking of getting up.” Thorin chuckled, surprising Bella so much that she looked up at him. There was something in his expression that she wasn’t used to seeing – at least not directed towards her. He looked _fond_ , Bella thought, and wondered why. “Not that I’m a child to be told when to stay in bed,” she added, almost absently.

Thorin stepped into the room and came across to the bed. He did not sit on the bed today, as he had last night. Instead he sat in the chair, which somebody had put beside the bed at some point while Bella had been sleeping.

“You said as much last night,” he commented. “You told me you were no fauntling to be fed.”

“As it’s true,” said Bella, willing her blush away, “I shan’t apologise for saying it.” Her voice was beginning to rasp, and she could feel the threat of a cough in the way something tickled in her throat. Perhaps she might ask somebody to make her more chamomile tea – somebody other than Thorin, of course, because even if he _had_ tended to her last night, he was still…well, he was still Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. Dori or Bofur would be happy to make her tea, she was sure. She would ask, when somebody came up with her promised meal.

“Bofur said you don’t recall much of last night,” Thorin said then. He sounded hesitant, unsure, but Bella nodded confirmation, and Thorin’s shoulders seemed to droop a little. “Then you remember nothing of – ,”

“Here we go,” said Bofur cheerily from the door. “Fresh bread, a bowl of broth, and some more of that tea with honey. Oin said it should help your throat.” He came into the room and brought a tray to the bed. Bella saw him glance at Thorin, and then he looked back at Bella and smiled. “This alright on your lap, lass? Or shall I go and find a stool or something to set it on?”

“I can manage,” said Bella, smiling back at him. “Thank you, Bofur.”

“Thank Bombur,” said Bofur, putting the tray in her lap and making sure it was balanced and stable before letting go. “He’s the cook. Me, I burn water.” Bella laughed, and regretted it at once when she began to cough once more. Bofur grabbed the tray again and lifted it off her before anything could spill, and Bella hunched forward and held a fist to her mouth as she coughed dry coughs until she was breathless.

“Drink your tea, mistress,” said Thorin, when at last she could lean back against her pile of pillows and begin to catch her breath again. “And do not laugh again.” Bella glanced at him, prepared to object to the command, but then she saw the soft line of his smile, the teasing humour in his expression, and she flapped a hand at him and shook her head.

“Yes, your majesty,” she said, gulping in air between each word. “Anything else, your majesty?” Bofur laughed, but whether at Bella or at Thorin, she couldn’t tell. He leaned over her again and returned the tray to her lap.

“There you go,” he said. “Eat up, and I’ll get the lads started on hot water.”

“Thank you, Bofur,” said Bella. The half-loaf of bread was fresh enough to still be warm, and the broth smelled delicious. Her stomach grumbled, and Bofur laughed again.

“Eat up,” he repeated. “We’ll get the tub up and start filling it with hot water, for when you’re done.” He gave Thorin a stern look, full of warning. Bella glanced at Thorin to see how he reacted, but Thorin merely inclined his head, as if he was accepting whatever warning Bofur was giving him. Bofur hmmphed, but he nodded and left the bedroom, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Bella shook her head, torn between wanting to know what was going on between Thorin and Bofur and wanting to begin her meal. In the end, though, she decided her hunger needed to be appeased before her curiosity, so she took a sip of tea and then set to work devouring the bread and broth.

“You were saying something,” she said, when she’d eaten half the bread and drunk enough broth to feel she could slow down. Thorin had watched her eat in silence, which had been a little unnerving, but Bella was too hungry to care much. “Before Bofur came in,” she clarified, glancing up at him as she tore another piece from the bread. “You were saying something.”

“I – yes,” said Thorin. He shifted a little in his chair, and Bella paused, holding the bread just above the broth, watching him curiously. He seemed uneasy again; he rose suddenly, and went to feed the fire, keeping his back to her so she couldn’t see his expression. Bella began to speak, but then cut herself off and ate her piece of bread. Whatever Thorin wanted to say, he would only say it in his own time. In the meantime, Bella was still hungry and she still had plenty of broth left.

“Do you recall what we spoke of, last night?” he asked her at last, when he had finished busying himself with the fire. He stood with an arm braced against the mantle, head bowed a little, still not turning back to look at her. Bella pursed her lips and looked at him, and wondered what he feared. 

“Not really,” she said. There were pieces of memories in her mind, but she couldn’t put the pieces together. “I – did you say something about why you don’t use my name?”

“Yes.” Thorin straightened, but still did not turn. “I said that I had not allowed myself the privilege.”

“Yes,” Bella murmured. “Yes, I…I remember that.” She fidgeted with the end of the half-loaf of bread, tearing it into pieces and then crumbling it into the remains of the broth. She could feel his lips on her palm, but it wasn’t real. It could not have been real. 

“Do you remember me telling you why?” Thorin asked, almost relentless in his pursuit of her fragmented memory. He looked at her then, intent and wholly focused on her, and Bella couldn’t face that gaze for long. 

“No,” she whispered. “I…”

“You said you must be dreaming,” Thorin told her. “That you would wake up today and it would be a dream.” He took a step towards her, away from the fireplace, but then he halted, as if unsure he would be welcome closer to her.

“But I was dreaming,” Bella said. She lifted her hands and hid her face in them. “I was dreaming,” she repeated. “You don’t even like me.” She heard his footsteps coming closer, but could not bear to look, so kept her hands at her face and her eyes firmly closed. She felt him lift the tray from her lap and heard him put it down somewhere. Then the bed dipped, and Thorin sat close to her, close enough for her to feel his heat, and to see glimpses of his red shirt from around her fingers, when she risked opening her eyes for a moment.

Thorin put his hands over hers, and then gently pulled her hands away from her face so that Bella couldn’t hide any longer. 

“You said that last night, as well,” Thorin told her. He was being gentle, so impossibly tender, and Bella bit her lip and kept her eyes directed down into her lap. “Bella,” he said, and the breath caught in her throat. “Bella,” he repeated. “Do you remember what I said to you?” he asked, and he lifted the hand he still held, brought it to his lips and kissed her palm.

Just as he had done last night. It had not been a dream, Bella thought with wild hope. It had not been a dream, or a fevered hallucination. He had kissed her hand like this, last night. He had spoken of courting. It had not been a dream.

“You asked for plain words,” murmured Thorin. “I gave them to you. Shall you hear them again, mistress? Or do you remember now?”

She looked up at him now, eyes wide as she searched his face for some sign that she was dreaming yet. But he was so close to her, so distractingly close. She moistened her lips, nervous, and he glanced down at her mouth and seemed to be transfixed for a moment.

“I…” But Bella couldn’t find the words to speak, to answer him. Thorin leaned a little closer, and Bella lifted a hand to his face carefully, tentatively. She stroked her fingers down his beard, across his jaw, and then she touched his mouth with her forefinger. “I think I remember,” she said roughly. “Do I – did you speak of courting, Thorin?”

“Aye,” Thorin said. He spoke softly, barely moving his lips, and Bella felt his breath against her finger. It almost made her shiver. “I spoke of courting you. If you would let me.” He still held her hand; he was tracing patterns with his finger onto the back of her hand, angular strokes that made her think he was trying to inscribe runes onto her skin.

Then they heard a noise – someone clattering up the stairs. Bella pulled away from Thorin and lifted a hand to her cheek as if she could wipe away any sign of a blush. Thorin sighed, sent her an exasperated glance, and then retreated to the chair beside the bed.

It was Fili and Kili who came up the stairs, carrying a large bath tub between them. Kili came backwards, muttering complaints about something, but he fell silent as they reached Bella’s room.

“One bath tub,” said Fili with a smile. “And there’s water heating up downstairs.” They set the tub down before the fire. Bella tried to look pleased, but it was hard when the lads had interrupted – well, what had they interrupted? 

“We’re on bath duty,” Kili said, twisting around to look at Bella. “Apparently it’s because we were rude and awful to you, but I don’t think I did anything to –,”

“Kili,” said Thorin, with weary fondness, “do as you’re told.” Kili began to protest, but Thorin held up a hand. “Do it quietly, and I shall forget to mention to your mother your part in the incident with the trolls.” Kili closed his mouth, teeth clicking together audibly, and Bella risked a chuckle. 

“I think I should like to meet your sister,” she said to Thorin, and was rewarded with a brief smile and a flash of his eyes towards her. “Thank you, boys. I’ll feel much better after a bath,” Bella added. 

“Bella,” said Fili then, drifting towards the bed until he stood at the foot of it, looking down at her earnestly. “I _am_ sorry about yesterday, you know. I should have been paying more attention.” He was contrite, and Bella didn’t think twice about forgiving him – not least because he was giving her such a pathetic, hopeful look that she couldn’t even pretend to withhold her mercy.

“It was an accident,” she said. “I’m sorry I got so upset.” 

Fili shrugged and shook his head. “No, no, you had every right,” he said. “Forgive me?” He smiled that winsome smile that had, last night, infuriated Bella so. But today she allowed herself to be charmed, and she smiled back at him.

“Forgiven,” she said. “Of course.”

“A deal too easily, if you ask me,” Thorin muttered. He was leaning back in the chair, arms folded, scowling at his nephews. 

“I didn’t ask you,” said Bella promptly. Kili snorted, and clapped a hand over his mouth at Thorin’s glare. Fili looked as though he was trying not to laugh; he reached for Kili and pulled his brother towards the door.

”We’ll be back with hot water soon,” he said. His voice was full of mirth, but he was at least not laughing, which was more than Kili seemed able to manage – as he left the bedroom and went down the landing to the stairs, Bella could hear him cackling with mirth.

Bella leaned back against her pillows and shook her head, full of fondness for the two young lads – for they _were_ young, for Dwarves, no matter that they had lived more years than she. They were young and even now, even after all the dangers they had faced, they were full of laughter and joy. Bella wondered for a moment, but no longer for than a moment, what it might take to make them lose that joy, to grow grave and thoughtful like their uncle.

Their uncle. Thorin.

Bella glanced at him, intending just a brief look, but he was watching her, and their eyes met. Bella hesitated, uncertain, as she had not felt since she had left her youth behind, many years before behind a haystack with a Bolger lad, neither of them knowing quite what they were about. Then she seized her courage. She was Bella Baggins, she reminded herself, and she had faced down trolls and orcs and wargs. 

“Thorin,” she said, speaking carefully because she felt a tickle in her throat that could easily become a cough, “don’t toy with me.” 

“Bella –,” he began, but Bella shook her head and he fell silent. He watched her, brow furrowed and his arms still folded across his chest. He looked formidable, unapproachable, but not ten minutes ago he had sat close to her and held her hand in his. He had let her touch his face, his lips. 

He was scared too, Bella realised suddenly, and the realisation made her stare at him. He clenched his jaw as she gazed at him, a shifting of the muscles of his face, and Bella was torn between wishing him closer, and knowing that she had to be clear on what he was offering her.

“Don’t toy with me,” she said again. “Don’t…I must know, Thorin. You’ve never shown any sign of…of liking me. And now you speak of courting.”

“Of love,” Thorin said, sharply, and a moment later looked chagrined. He had not intended to speak, Bella saw, and she bowed her head and twisted her hands together in her lap. There was dirt under her fingernails, she saw, despite Thorin’s careful washing last night. A bath would clean her properly, from head to toe. 

“I don’t know how Dwarves do these things,” she said at last, directing her words to her hands and not to Thorin, because she couldn’t look at him as she said this. “For Hobbits…we don’t court lightly. We enjoy ourselves freely – we’ve no rules about bed play, not like Men – but a courting only happens when a couple is serious. When they already know they are suited and that they – they love each other. It’s rare that a courting doesn’t result in marriage. We consider it a betrothal.” She heard Thorin inhale, and she continued quickly to keep him from speaking. “It’s not something to…if what you want is a bedmate, that’s…” She was faltering, fumbling for the right words. Her cheeks were hot, and her ears, showing her mortification plainly. 

She could not accept a courting if Thorin did not realise how her people viewed such a thing. But she didn’t think she could accept an offer for bed play, either – because she _wanted_ a courting from Thorin. Bella had not realised how much she wanted such a thing, or perhaps she had simply hidden away the want, packed it up tight in her heart and mind and set it aside, called it a silly crush and hoped that he would never find out.

But he had said he had grown to love her. He had said that.

“It is different for Dwarves,” Thorin said at last. “But less so than you might think.” 

Kili came then, stopping Thorin from speaking further. He bore a large pail of steaming water, and he emptied it into the bath tub.

“More’s on the way,” he said to Bella, and then he left the room again.

“I think,” said Thorin, “that we should continue this conversation later.” He rose from the chair and came close to the bed. “I shall leave you to your bath, mistress,” he said. “But after, may I return?”

“I doubt I could stop you,” Bella murmured. Then she caught herself, and looked up at Thorin with a small, careful smile. “Yes,” she said. “You may.” Thorin’s smile was less polite than hers, more genuine; it was a wide, beaming thing, that made Bella feel as though she had granted him the world. He reached out and took her hand, and bowed over it.

“Until later, then,” he said, his lips brushing against the back of her hand, sending a shiver down Bella’s spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. His thumb grazed across her fingers, and then he withdrew, turned, and strode from the room without a backwards glance.

Bella waited until she could hear him going down the stairs, and then she exhaled slowly. This, she said to herself, was exactly the kind of trouble she should probably be avoiding. She seemed to be getting into a habit of landing in trouble, and Bella blamed Gandalf. It was his fault – the whole thing, from start to finish. If Gandalf hadn’t showed up out of the blue, and scratched that symbol on her door, then Bella would never have met Thorin Oakenshield, and would never have begun to care for him as she had.

If it all went wrong now, it would be Gandalf’s fault, she determined. Not hers. She had told Thorin what courting meant to Hobbits, and now she must wait until later to resume the conversation.

Fili came in with a bucket of water then, and Oin with him, carrying a cup of a foul-smelling liquid. Fili emptied the bucket into the tub and left hastily, but not without giving Bella an exaggerated grimace from behind Oin’s back. Bella shook her head, scolding him, but Oin didn’t notice anything. He came to stand beside her and felt her forehead with the back of his hand.

“No fever,” he said. “That’s good. Mouth open, tongue out, say ‘ahh’.” Bella rolled her eyes at him, but submitted to his examination and did as she was told. Oin inspected her throat carefully, and then shook his head. “Lots of honey,” he told her. “In tea. You coughed hard enough to make your throat raw.”

“Alright,” said Bella meekly. She could _feel_ how raw her throat was, and she knew Oin was right in saying that honey would help. She wished she still had some of Beorn’s honey – he’d given her a large jar of it, before they left him, because Bella had enthused so about it. But they’d eaten every scrap of food in Mirkwood, and she had left the jar somewhere between the path and the spiders. 

“No use talking,” said Oin, gesturing towards his ear. His trumpet had been crushed and abandoned in Goblin Town, and although he could lip-read a little, Bella knew his accuracy was sometimes a problem. “Just nod or shake,” he instructed her. “Have you coughed since waking?” Bella nodded. “Sneezing?” She shook her head. “That’s good,” he said, and smiled down at her. “Aches and pains?”

Bella made a face at him. “I ache all over,” she complained, and Oin seemed to get the gist of her answer, because he chuckled and patted her shoulder. 

“Ah, well, a good hot bath will help with that,” he said. “You’ll do alright.” Kili came in then with another pail of water; the bath was beginning to fill up, steam rising from the surface of the water, and Bella longed to get into it. “Now,” said Oin, and Bella returned her attention to him. “Drink this, and then after your bath, you get straight back into bed. You hear me?”

Bella sighed, and nodded. There was no point arguing with him – and there would have been no point even if he could hear her. She knew as well as he did that rest, warmth and food were the only things that would make much difference to her recovery. Back to bed she would go, hopefully with some more broth – or even something a little more substantial – and then…

Then Thorin would come back, to talk more. Bella wasn’t entirely sure she was looking forward to it. Dwarven courting customs were less different than she might think, he had said. It was no kind of an answer to what she’d said to him, and there was no reassurance in it. But he had kissed her hand, so perhaps he didn’t feel it was so great an obstacle.

“Right then,” said Oin, oblivious to the nerves that churned in her stomach and made her feel a little queasy. “I’ll get some tea and honey sorted for when you’re out of the bath.”

“Thank you, Oin,” Bella said. He waved a hand at her and left without saying anything further. Bella smiled to herself. Oin lacked any kind of the polite niceties that were instilled into every Hobbit fauntling, but he was, in his own way, a caring soul, and Bella was very fond of him.

Fili and Kili returned together just as Bella finished the foul drink Oin had given her; they carried three pails of water between them, and Ori trailed behind.

“I found you a towel,” he said shyly to Bella, proferring a length of rather faded green corduroy as Fili and Kili emptied their pails into the tub. “Well, it’s not a towel really, of course, but I thought it would do.” He came to the bed to show her, holding the cloth out so she could feel it. It was thick enough to be useful, and Bella was pleased that he’d thought of it, because the lack of a towel hadn’t yet occurred to her.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. “It will do just fine.” 

“And _I_ ,” said Kili, practically shoving Ori aside in his eagerness, “found you a comb.” He thrust a small wooden comb at her, and Bella winced at the thought of trying to comb her hair. Kili laughed at her, and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, maybe Uncle will help you,” he said, a note of slyness in his voice.

“Kili,” said Fili warningly, and Bella shook her head at the pair of them.

“Boys,” she said. “Don’t be so silly.” Ori had flushed red, embarrassed by the insinuation, and Fili was glowering at Kili fiercely enough to rival his uncle. “Is that all my water?” Bella asked, changing the subject before Kili could dig himself into a deeper hole.

“Yes,” said Fili, his glare fading into a smile as he looked at her. “And here – my offering, my lady.” Bella laughed at the title, and watched in delight as he fished a bar of soap from his pocket and presented it to her. “And now we’ll leave you be,” he added. He grasped Kili’s shoulder, and ushered Ori towards the door. Ori gave her a little wave as he went.

At last the door was shut, and Bella was alone. She stayed in the bed for a few more moments, feeling quite exhausted by the whirlwind of activity, and then she flung back the blankets and heaved herself out of bed. It took more effort than she expected, and when her feet met the ground, she had to stand still for a while, clutching onto the bedpost to keep from falling over. She felt a little light-headed, and very weary, and her muscles ached even more than they had when she had tried to get up earlier.

There was a chamber pot under the bed, and she made use of that, and then carefully stepped across the room to the bath tub with the towel and soap, stripping off her shirt as she went. Her feet felt better than they had the previous night – less tender, at least, although she could hardly bear to look at them, they were so covered with cuts and grazes. She was careful when she began to get into the bath, and hissed through her teeth when the hot water made the cuts sting badly, even though she’d expected it.

Still, despite the stinging of her various scrapes, the hot water felt better than Bella had hoped. She sank into the tub until the water reached her chest, and stretched her legs out, happy to find that the tub was large enough that she didn’t have to bend her knees at all. She rested her head against the rim of the tub, closed her eyes, and let the hot water work wonders on her bruised, aching body.

Bella didn’t know how long she rested in the bath, her eyes shut and her mind wandering. Long enough for the water to begin to cool, and so at length Bella sat up, reached for the soap, and began to wash herself in earnest. She scrubbed the dirt and grime from her skin, struggling in places to tell what was dirt and what was bruise. She struggled to bend to clean her feet, the movement making her back and shoulders ache terribly, but she persevered. She washed every inch of skin from her toes to her ears, until at last she felt clean. The bath water was grey and unappealing, but Bella took a breath and submerged her head anyway. She had used a great deal of the bar of soap on her body, but there was enough left to attempt to wash her hair. Her curls were horribly tangled, and even the addition of soap wasn’t enough to begin to loosen the knots.

“Oh well,” Bella sighed. It would have to be scissors – no comb would get through the bird’s nest on her head, she was sure. 

She rinsed the soap from her hair, and carefully stood up to get out of the tub. The hot water had helped, and she felt less stiff, but the effort of bathing had made her head ache, and she was hungry again. Bella reflected, as she wrapped herself in Ori’s make-shift towel, that she was still more ill than she cared to admit. Her throat was painfully sore whenever she swallowed – although she hadn’t coughed in some time, she remembered, and felt a little more cheerful.

She hobbled over to the fireplace and added another log to the fire, and then she checked her clothes to make sure they were dry. They were, but Bella couldn’t quite bear the thought of putting them back on. The shirt might be a little indecent, but at least it was clean. 

She hesitated for a moment, and then checked the pocket of her waistcoat. The golden ring was still there, secure in the pocket. Bella glanced around for a moment, wondering if there was some way she could keep it closer to her, but then she shrugged and left it where it was. Nobody was likely to touch her clothing, except perhaps Dori, and somebody was sure to have a bit of thread or twine that she could use to hang the ring around her neck.

Bella dried herself in front of the fire, and then picked the shirt off the floor and pulled it over her head once more. Clean at last, she got back into bed and burrowed into the blankets. Her hair was still wet, but she didn’t care. She yawned widely, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

It was dark when she awoke. The fire was low, glowing embers in the grate, and the curtains were not drawn across the window. Moonlight shone into the room, painting a silver stream across the floor. Somebody was standing at the window, looking out – Thorin, Bella saw, as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Thorin stood there, still and silent, his attention caught by something outside the window.

The Mountain, Bella thought. Could he see Erebor from her window? Was that what captivated him so?

She took a breath to speak, to say something to him, but the breath caught in her throat and turned into a cough. Bella curled over onto her side and coughed, and in a heartbeat Thorin was at her bedside, his hand warm and comforting on her shoulder, keeping her from shaking too much as she coughed and coughed.

“Here,” he said, when at last she stopped coughing. He leaned across to a stool that had been put to use as a table, took a cup of water and helped her to sit enough to drink. It hurt to swallow, but still Bella drank greedily, and so hastily that water spilled down her chin. She didn’t bother wiping it away until the cup was empty, and then she used the sleeve of her shirt to dry her face. Six months ago she would have been horrified at such an action, but now she knew there were more important things than handkerchiefs. 

“Thank you,” she said, and let Thorin take the cup away. She shuffled up the bed, propping herself up against the pillows, and was surprised to find she felt a lot better. She ached less, her head felt clearer, and although her throat still hurt, and she still had a cough, she thought perhaps she was beginning to mend. She was hungry, though – a gnawing ache in her belly that she had learned to ignore, over the past months, but need not ignore now. “Is there anything to eat?” she asked Thorin. He smiled, the planes of his face lit by firelight and moonlight, and he nodded.

“Nothing hot, for now,” he said. “It’s late – the others sleep. But here.” He took a plate from the stool, and gave it to her. There was bread and butter, cheese, cured ham, and several apples. Plain fare, but plenty of it, and Bella smiled at Thorin briefly before tucking in. She ate three slices of bread and a large piece of cheese before Thorin spoke next, and she did not stop eating when he began.

“I have thought much about what you said,” Thorin said, his voice a soft murmur. “About your customs.” Bella glanced at him, and then firmly refocused her gaze on the plate in her lap. She didn’t think she could bear to look at him if he was about to reject her, to tell her that he did not want to court her, that he only wanted a bedmate. “Dwarven customs are different,” he went on, “but only at first. Our courting is a slow thing, Bella, and there are defined traditions, handed down from each generation to the next, unchanged since Durin laid them down for all Dwarves.”

Bella swallowed her mouthful and risked a quick look at him, her scholarly interest piqued by what he was saying despite her fear and anxiety. Thorin wasn’t watching her; his head was lowered, his hands clasped together as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“First is a declaration,” Thorin told her, “to make our intentions known.” He lifted his head to look at her, and Bella held her breath for a moment at the expression on his face. There was something dark there, something all-encompassing, something that made her shiver. She’d never been looked at with such wanting before, not by any of the Hobbit lads or lasses she’d tumbled with as a tween.

“You’ve done that,” she said, and was surprised to realise her mouth was dry. He inclined his head. “What – what then?” Bella dared to ask. She put the plate aside, to eat it later, and Thorin took it and placed it back on the stool.

“Then,” he said, “the courting couple spend time together, to learn each other. This time can last for years – Dwarves do not, as a rule, forge bonds in haste.” 

Bella nodded slowly. “We do the same,” she said, “but before the courting. Walks, meals, dances. That sort of thing.” And more besides, she thought, and felt her cheeks grow hot. Hobbits were free with their affections, as she had hinted to Thorin earlier. “But it doesn’t last for years,” she added. “Perhaps a year or two, at most.”

Thorin reached out and took her hand. Startled, Bella said nothing, but looked at him with wide eyes. His hand was so much larger than hers, warm and solid and calloused. Her hands were roughened by the past months, hardened and browned and scraped, but still so small. He cradled her hand between his, gentle but firm.

“We have spent time together,” he pointed out. “We know each other.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his mouth gentle against the scabs on her knuckles. “You have seen the worst of me,” he added, rueful.

“I – yes,” Bella agreed. “I suppose so.” He had been rude and insulting for many weeks at the beginning of this quest, and she still could not reconcile that harsh Thorin with this one, this lover who was gentle and tender and cared for her so. She moistened her lips and met his gaze. “So far your courting is merely what Hobbits would call companionship,” she told him.

“So both our cultures are satisfied, thus far,” Thorin suggested. He was smiling a little, the corners of his mouth upturned, and one eyebrow raised in teasing enquiry. Bella rolled her eyes at him, shrugged a little. What he called courting was, so far, nothing like Hobbit courting, but he was correct enough that she would not contest it. Thorin stroked his thumb across her palm and Bella bit her lip and felt butterflies in her chest. His eyes were fixed upon her, focused and intent, and Bella felt as though he could see through her, see her nervousness and her fear and, yes, her desire. Because she desired him – and she always had, from the first moment she had opened her front door to find him on the other side. 

“The third stage is where our traditions meet yours,” Thorin said at last, when the silence threatened to become uncomfortable. “After a couple has spent time together, as we have, and have learned that they are suited, they exchange beads as a sign that they are no longer open to other offers of courtship.” He released her hand and touched his braids, scowling deeply. “But I carried with me only my own beads, and those are lost in Mirkwood.”

“I’m sorry for the loss,” said Bella, “but I don’t see how that’s the same as Hobbit traditions. We don’t exchange beads – we don’t exchange _anything_ , when a courting begins. It’s – well, it’s bad taste.”

“Bad taste,” Thorin repeated, clearly taken aback. “Why? Dwarves give gifts to our beloveds to show how deeply we value them, and as recognition of their worth. Is it not so with Hobbits?”

“No,” Bella answered. “Or at least – it is, but not at the beginning of a courting. It would be too much like buying affection.” The very thought of it made her feel as though she had tasted something rotten. Hobbits loved freely, or not at all. She couldn’t think of the last time she had known anyone to marry for anything other than a deep and abiding affection. The richest Hobbit in the Shire had nothing if he did not have love, and no well-brought-up Hobbit lad or lass would give their heart for anything other than a heart in return.

Thorin was frowning; he had not understood, Bella could see, but she had no other way of explaining it.

“After the beginning, we exchange flowers,” she added. “And then something bigger, at the wedding. Something to show what you’re bringing to the marriage. My father built Bag End for my mother. Often women make household linens, to show they can care for their husband.”

“I think I see,” Thorin said, still frowning a little, his brow still furrowed in thought. “But in any case, I spoke more of the meaning of the exchange. Once beads are exchanged, it is rare for a courtship to be ended. By then, it is expected that the couple will know each other well enough to make a decision.”

“Oh,” breathed Bella. “Oh, I see.” It was the meaning of it, not the act itself, that was shared between Dwarf and Hobbit courting. She cleared her throat, but that led to another cough, and another after that, and she covered her mouth with her hand and hunched forward as the coughs shook her whole body. Thorin reached out once more, put his arms around her and held her steady. Like an anchor, Bella thought absently. A rock to lean against and give her strength. He had certainly given her courage – or enabled her to find a hidden wellspring of courage, buried deep inside herself. 

The coughs ceased at last; Bella leaned into Thorin’s embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. She matched her breaths to his, the rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm. 

“Bella,” Thorin murmured then. “Bella. I would give you a bead. I have none now, but I will make one for you. It will be in silver, for that is the metal of Durin’s line, and I would set in it an emerald, for your Shire, and because it will shine so brilliantly against your hair. I will braid it into your hair and all will know how I love you.”

“Do you?” Bella asked. Her voice came out as a raw whisper, her throat so sore and dry. “Do you love me, Thorin?”

“Yes, Bella,” he said gently. “I have come to love you more deeply than I can say.” A sob caught in her throat. Thorin turned his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I have not treated you well,” he admitted. “I told myself that you were unfit for this quest, and that I could not allow myself distractions. I owe too much to my people; I will reclaim Erebor, so that we may return to our home. But you…ah, Bella.” He exhaled, his breath hot against her skin. “I treated you poorly because I knew I would be lost to you, if I let you close,” he said. “But you are brave, and you are clever, and I could not help but admire you for it.”

Bella couldn’t speak. She had wanted to hear these things. She had wanted to know that Thorin liked her, that he valued her presence in the company. He had admitted to his early mistakes, after she had saved him from Azog, and he had been less brusque with her since then, but she had not felt he thought so much of her. To hear it now, to hear that he had grown to love her, was like a balm on a wound that she had not known still needed healing.

“I have done little enough to be worthy of your regard,” Thorin said after a moment. “I do not imagine that you love me now, as I love you. But is there a chance, Bella? Do you care for me a little?”

Bella made no answer – or at least, not in words. She lifted her head from his shoulder so she could look at him, their faces intimately close. His eyes glittered strangely in the firelight. His lips were slightly parted, as if he still had more to say. But Bella did not give him a chance. She closed the gap between them and pressed her mouth to his in a chaste kiss.

He did not respond at first, and Bella began to withdraw, flushed and worried that she’d made a fool of herself. But Thorin chased her, his arms pulling her closer to him, and he kissed her gently – chastely, as she had kissed him. Just a meeting of their lips, and his arms around her. 

Then Bella shifted in the bed. She put her hands on Thorin’s shoulder to balance herself and moved so she was kneeling. Thorin rested a hand in the small of her back, warm through her shirt, and he kissed her again, deeper now, his tongue flicking out to taste her, teasing at her lips. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, and Bella allowed herself to tangle a hand in his hair as she parted her lips for him. 

Bella had been kissed before, of course. She was no blushing maid, no innocent young thing. But whether because he was a Dwarf, or simply because he was _Thorin_ , this kiss was different to those she had exchanged in her youth. There was an urgency to it, a desperation, and Bella was lost to it, to the taste of him, and the smell, and the feel of him against her. 

She panted for air when at last he took his mouth from hers, and then she made a high, keening sound when Thorin moved his attentions to her jaw, and then down her throat, his beard scraping against her skin as he pressed open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach. Bella let her head fall back, to give him greater access, and he made a noise, a rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Bella,” he murmured into the pulse at her neck. “Bella, beloved.” There was so _much_ in his voice, more emotions than Bella would dare to name, and she held tight to him. He licked and kissed his way back up her throat until he found her mouth with his once more. They kissed again, tasting each other, the kiss gentling into a tender thing. Somehow Thorin pulled her into his lap, cradling her to him, her arms around his neck and his holding her secure.

They parted at last, but not far; Thorin pressed their foreheads together, their breath mingling in the space between them. Bella closed her eyes, a heady feeling of happiness bubbling up inside her.

“You do,” Thorin murmured. “You do care.”

Bella huffed a laugh, opened her eyes, and pulled away to look at him. 

“You infuriating Dwarf,” she said. “Of course I do. I’ve been half in love with you ever since you stood in my sitting room and sang.” 

Thorin’s eyes were wide, startled, and Bella couldn’t resist kissing him again. Thorin responded eagerly, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, and then nipping at her lower lip. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, and she tangled her hand in his hair again, scratching lightly at his scalp with her nails. Thorin hissed against her mouth and kissed her again, his hand wandering, fingers stroking down her arm, dancing across her knee. She twisted in his lap, straddled him with one knee either side of him, heedless of how her shirt rode up to expose her legs. Thorin grasped at her hips, pulling her ever-closer to him. Her small breasts were pressed against his chest; she could feel his prick hardening between her legs. 

Then her throat tickled unpleasantly, and she broke away from his mouth to cough. He held her close as she coughed, his hands soothing now as he rubbed her back, until Bella slumped against him and was able to catch her breath once more.

“You make me forget all else,” Thorin said then. “You need rest, not –,” He cut himself off, which was just as well, since Bella didn’t quite feel up to telling him that she was perfectly capable of deciding what she needed by herself, thank you very much. She sighed, and slid from his lap to stand before him. Her shirt had slipped from one shoulder, baring more skin to his gaze, but Bella didn’t care. 

“Thorin,” she said to him, “what comes after beads?” 

Thorin shook his head at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Bella,” he said. “You need rest.”

“I need to know,” Bella said, reaching out to take his hand. She brought it to her mouth and kissed his palm, as he had kissed hers earlier. “Tell me,” she said, “because I would accept your bead, if you had one to give me.” 

Thorin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes fixed upon hers. “I am…glad to hear it,” he said. Bella smiled, feeling a little shy now, and he entwined his fingers in hers and pulled her back to him. “I’ll tell you if you get back into bed,” he bargained with her, and she gave a startled laugh.

“Unfair,” she said, but Thorin shrugged and looked expectantly at her. Bella muttered a grumble under her breath, but she wanted to know how Dwarven courtships proceeded – how _they_ might proceed – and so she got back into bed and let Thorin fuss at her blankets. “Now,” she said, when at last he seemed satisfied that she was safely tucked in, “tell me.”

“After exchanging beads,” Thorin began, “Dwarves create gifts for each other, in whatever craft they choose. It can take many months to craft something worthy – my mother spent fourteen months crafting armour for my father.” Bella raised her eyebrows in surprise, but Thorin didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t need to know. He paused for a moment, staring into space – perhaps remembering his parents, she thought, or remembering being told the tale of their courtship. Certainly she could think of many times, as a child, when she had sat at her father’s feet and begged him to tell her how he had wooed Belladonna Took. “Then,” Thorin went on, shaking himself from the memory, “the two may wed.”

Bella thought, for a moment, of Hobbit weddings. They were simple, though always cause for great celebration. She thought about wearing a crown of flowers, of Thorin dressed in Durin blue, of the way she might feel at such an occasion. And then she banished those thoughts, because Thorin was right, she did need to rest, and thoughts of a wedding would lead her inexorably on to thoughts of a wedding night, and such thoughts would not help her to rest and fully recover.

“Not so very different from Hobbit ways, after all,” she said quietly. “We craft too – and the courtship lasts as long as it takes for both to have finished their gift. Then a wedding.”

They sat silently together for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. Bella felt as though she finally believed it, what he had been saying to her since last night – that he loved her, that he wanted her. It was hard, to twist her thoughts from the idea of being a burden on him to that of being his beloved, but it helped when he looked at her the way he looked now, the lines of his face softened, his expression almost awed. There was love there, she could see, and desire, and – yes, she decided, there was respect, too, without which she did not think she could have accepted him. 

She smiled, a slow smile creeping across her face, and Thorin leaned close and kissed her again, barely a brush of his mouth against hers. 

“Bella,” he murmured. “Beloved.” He rubbed his nose against hers, a gentle affection that she decided she very much liked. Then he pulled away again, heaving a deep sigh. “Once we have Erebor,” he said, “I will make you a bead. And then…”

“Then,” Bella agreed, nodding her head. Then they would begin their crafting, although she couldn’t think what she might make for him, to show what she brought to the union. Until the Mountain was reclaimed, however, and the dragon dead, there was no point thinking about it. “By Hobbit standards,” she felt obliged to point out, “we are…well, we’re betrothed. There’s no outward sign of it for us, no bead to wear, or ring.” 

“How do others know, then?” Thorin questioned. 

“Everybody knows everybody else’s business in the Shire,” she said wryly. “Gossiping is our second favourite pastime, after eating.” He chuckled, and she loved to see it. He looked younger when he was happy, she decided. As if he had fewer cares, at least for a few moments. “You’re sure, Thorin?” she asked then, nervous suddenly. She didn’t think she could bear it if he wasn’t sure, not now. But Thorin was nodding his head firmly. 

“Quite sure,” he assured her. “Do you yet doubt it, beloved?”

“No-o,” said Bella, drawing the word out, “but I don’t want you to feel…I can’t wear a bead until you give me one, so by your people’s customs there’s still time to change your mind.” This had all happened so quickly – she’d had feelings for him, of course, and apparently he had been growing to love her all along, but it was only a day since he had told her that he loved her. She didn’t want them to rush into something that could not be undone, if either should find their feelings were not enough for marriage.

Thorin cupped her face with his two hands, so she couldn’t look away from him. “Bella Baggins,” he said, “I will not change my mind. I am bound to you, as surely as if we were already married.” She flushed, but she was pleased by his answer. He stroked his fingers across her cheek as he withdrew, and Bella wondered when she would fully realise that she was allowed to touch, now. She was allowed to look. She no longer needed to hide her feelings away, to lie to herself about the depth of her affection for him, because he – he loved her. He wanted to court her, and to marry her, and part of her was still a little afraid that this was simply some fevered hallucination.

“I have one more question,” she said suddenly, and Thorin gave an amused smile.

“Only one?” he teased. “You surprise me.” Bella rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she was really too delighted by the teasing to be irritated at his insinuation that she was too inquisitive. “Go on then, mistress,” he said, his voice warm and mellow with laughter. “Ask your question.” Bella hesitated for a moment. There was no way to ask without being blunt, but she was fairly sure he wasn’t expecting the question she wanted to ask. Thorin’s brow creased as the silent moment dragged on, but then Bella spoke.

“Do Dwarves abstain, before marriage?” she asked, because there really was no other way of asking it. Thorin made a choked noise, deep in his throat, and Bella shrugged her shoulders and offered him an apologetic look. “I know Men have funny ideas about these things,” she said. “I don’t want to make any more cultural blunders than I already have done, over the past few months.”

Thorin rubbed a hand across his face, as if he could physically wipe incredulity from his expression.

“Still you surprise me,” he muttered. “I’d not thought you would be so bold.”

“I told you that Hobbits indulge in bed play freely,” Bella pointed out. “We’re not so restrained as most races, I know. We don’t believe in self-denial.” With every word she spoke, she could see a redness growing across his cheeks. She hesitated, and then decided that he could be teased in turn. “ _Do_ Dwarves abstain, then?” she asked. “Have I been forward, by your culture’s standards?”

“No,” said Thorin, dropping his hand into his lap and looking at her with a strange expression, surprise fading into fondness and then a deep desire that made his eyes look darker than normal. “No, indeed, we do not. I do not think courtships would be half so long, were a couple not allowed to know the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Good,” said Bella, with a decisive nod of her head. Not that she was well enough, not tonight, at least, but she wanted to make sure she didn’t make any silly cultural mistakes, the way she had at the beginning of her journey with the Dwarves. 

Thorin leaned forward and kissed her again, a hand cupping her cheek, his mouth warm and gentle. Bella clutched a handful of his shirt in her hand, to keep him close, but Thorin seemed in no hurry to depart. They kissed for long minutes, until Bella’s lips were swollen and her heart was full to bursting. Then at last the kiss slowed and ceased, and Thorin rested his forehead against hers.

“I should leave you to rest,” he murmured.

“I suppose so,” sighed Bella. “I’ll finish the food, though, before I sleep.” He made an amused sort of sound, a hum in his throat, and Bella smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you?” she asked then. “You’ll sleep?” She worried about him, sure he’d had little rest the previous night – and little enough sleep in Thranduil’s prison too, for no doubt he’d been constantly aware of the need to be alert. He needed rest as much as she did, if they were to face the dragon.

Thorin stroked his fingers across her cheek, and nodded as he pulled away from her. “I will,” he said. “You need not worry for me, beloved.”

“You shouldn’t give me cause, then,” Bella retorted, and he had the grace to bow his head in acknowledgement. “Alright,” she said reluctantly, “pass me the plate and get to bed.” Thorin chuckled but obeyed her, rising from the bed and passing her the half-empty plate. She took it and looked up at him, wondering once more if this was all a dream.

“Goodnight, Bella,” said Thorin. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but after a moment he shook his head slightly and took a step away from the bed. “I have to visit the Master, tomorrow morning,” he said, almost a warning. “But I hope to be back by lunch.”

“Alright,” Bella nodded. “I’ll – I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

Thorin left quietly, closing the door behind him, and for a long while Bella could do nothing but stare at the bedroom door, a hand at her swollen lips, trying to decide if this had truly been real. Then her stomach complained of hunger, and Bella finished her late supper and went to sleep once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Bella awoke feeling refreshed. 

She stretched out, arms above her head and toes craning to reach the foot of the bed. Her muscles still ached, but nothing like so badly as before. She swallowed experimentally, and decided that her throat was indeed less sore than it had been. Her chest hurt still, from the coughing, but she knew from experience that the cough would probably linger a little longer yet, longer than her other symptoms.

Bella sat up then, and pushed the blankets aside so that she could inspect the cut on her foot. It was the worst of her wounds, but it was healing nicely, and she had no qualms about walking on it now. She would have to be careful not to knock the scab, but Bella was sure she was well enough and healed enough to get up and to venture downstairs to see her friends.

That was if she could find something to wear, she reminded herself, grimacing as she looked at her clothes. Somebody had folded them neatly, and set them in a pile beneath the window, but there was little enough that she could wear again. The jacket and shirt were beyond rescue, and her skirt – well, if she was honest, that too was probably destined for somebody’s rag bag. Her breast binding and smallclothes were decent enough, if dirty, but Bella was hesitant to bind her breasts until her cough had gone entirely – she didn’t want to constrict her chest until she could breathe without soreness.

The shirt she wore as a nightdress wasn’t decent enough to be seen in; there were too many missing buttons, and while she hadn’t minded that when ill and in bed, she didn’t want to go downstairs with so much skin showing. The neckline was lowered for lack of a top button, and although the hem fell to her knees, with no smallclothes beneath…

“First things first,” Bella sighed, and got out of bed. The chamber pot beneath the bed had been emptied, and she made use of it again. Somebody had put a wash stand before the fire, in place of the bath tub she had used yesterday, and Bella paused for a moment to marvel at how quiet the Dwarves must have been, to move things in and out of her room without waking her. Then she went to the basin of water and rinsed her hands and face. The water was cold, but it banished the last of her sleepiness. 

The comb Kili had brought her was sitting on top of her pile of clothes, and Bella took it up without any real hope of managing to untangle her hair.

“Should have tried last night,” she muttered to herself as she began to attack the knotted mass. It might have been easier, had her hair been wet, but she didn’t want to use cold water for that, not when she was just getting over being ill. Nevertheless, she tried to force the comb through her curls, starting at the ends and then slowly trying to work her way up towards the roots.

She gave up in frustration scarcely a few minutes later. She lacked patience, she knew – the kind of patience her mother had displayed, when Bella had been a young, wild thing, and had come home with her hair snarled and full of leaves and twigs. Her mother had been patient enough to comb through the tangles, and gentle too, never once pulling Bella’s hair by accident. As Bella had grown, she had taken better care of her hair, to avoid long sessions battling with a comb.

There was no other choice now; she would have to cut it short. Thorin probably wouldn’t like it, but – 

Thorin.

Bella stood still in the middle of the bedroom, remembering all that had happened yesterday. She remembered all that he had said, everything he had done – that _they_ had done. She lifted a hand to her lips, recalling the feel of his kiss, the scratch of his beard and whiskers. She’d straddled his lap, pressed up against him, and he’d been as eager as she. Courting, she thought, and laughed a soft laugh. They were courting. Thorin was courting her. He _loved_ her. He had declared himself to her with no hope that his feelings were returned. He called her beloved, and spoke her name with such reverence, such deep need.

And yet still she must cut her hair. Thorin might complain, but he would never be able to get a bead into her hair as it was, and she defied even a Dwarf to be able to tame the bird’s nest atop her head.

Bella heard the soft creak of footsteps on the landing outside her room then, and she darted to the door, clutching the shirt together at her neck. It was Dori – just who Bella wanted to see – and he had a pile of clothes in his arms.

“Good morning,” she greeted. Dori beamed at her, a contagious smile that she had to return. “Are those for me?” she asked.

“Indeed,” said Dori, ushering her back into her room. “I’ve brought a few things that should fit you. Not that you’re to get up a minute before you feel ready, mind.”

“I feel much better,” Bella assured him. “I’d like to come downstairs and see everyone.” Dori gave her a dubious look, but handed over the clothes and let her look through them. There was a woollen skirt, and a shirt that should fit her, although she suspected it would be a little tight in the chest. Still, with her waistcoat over it, it would do well enough. “Thank you, Dori,” she said gratefully, and Dori patted her shoulder.

“No trouble at all,” he said. “But look, now – I thought you might wear this one, while we’re in safety and comfort.” He plucked a garment from the pile, and held it up to her. “This should fit,” he said with an approving nod. It was a dress, designed for a child of Men, but Bella had lost enough of her womanly curves that it would probably fit. It was made from good cloth, although patched in places, and the colour was faded to a pale grey-green. The hem would reach her ankles, she thought – lower than Hobbit fashion, but it wouldn’t hurt to cover the bruises and scrapes on her legs.

“It’s lovely,” Bella said, and took the dress from him. “Thank you.” She put her new clothes onto the bed, and then turned back to Dori. “I don’t suppose you have any scissors?” she asked him.

“Scissors,” Dori repeated, frowning a little. “I dare say I can find some downstairs. But why, Bella?”

“My hair,” Bella grimaced, gesturing to her head. “I’ll have to cut it short.” Dori looked appalled, but Bella stood firm. “There’s no other way,” she said. “I’ll never get all these tangles out, it’s gone matted and horrible. If I cut most of it off, I’ll be able to comb through the rest of it.”

“But Bella – your hair,” Dori said weakly. “You’ve such lovely hair, Bella dear. Surely it’s not as bad as all that.” He reached out, as if he wanted to attempt to tame her hair himself, but then he checked himself and wrung his hands together fretfully.

“It is,” said Bella, with a firm nod. “I know you Dwarves have notions about hair, but I’m not a Dwarf, and this needs cutting.” 

“Notions,” spluttered Dori. Bella tried to look apologetic. She hadn’t intended to reduce Dwarven traditions to triviality with her words, but nonetheless, she was not a Dwarf, and cutting her hair did not mean she had done some awful deed, or lost her honour. “Notions, indeed,” Dori grumbled. “Well, on your own head be it, Bella.” He shook his head and sighed. “Cutting your hair, indeed,” he muttered. “If you were a dwarrowdam, the shame of it –,”

“But I’m not,” Bella cut across him. She didn’t mean to be rude, but she didn’t much want a long discussion about the differences between Dwarves and Hobbits. She wanted to get her new clothes on, and to go downstairs and find something substantial to eat, and she wanted to cut her hair before she so much as put a toe outside this bedroom. “Please, Dori?” She reached out and stilled his hands. “It’s for the best, really,” she added. 

“Alright, alright,” said Dori. He shook his head once again, and grumbled under his breath as he left the room. Bella bit back a smile; he fussed so, but it was all with the best and kindest of intentions. 

She closed the door again and pulled off her shirt. Her smallclothes were dirty still, but there was no help for that, for there had been none in the clothes Dori brought her. She pulled them on, and then wriggled into the dress. It tied with laces at the back, but Bella was able to reach around and tug at the lacings to tighten them, and to tie a knot at the bottom. It was reasonably comfortable, this dress that Dori had found for her. The bodice wasn’t too tight, and the waist sat nicely enough. She couldn’t remember ever wearing a dress that came down to her ankles like this. It was an odd sensation, but she rather liked it. Bella couldn’t resist a little spin, just to see the skirt flaring out around her. 

Then she scolded herself for silliness, and went to fold her shirt and put it under her pillow. She was a woman grown, not a fauntling in her first party dress – and what, she demanded of herself, would Dori have thought if he’d caught her being so daft?

She had sobered herself none too soon; in another moment there came a knock at the door, and Dori entered at her call. He bore a pair of scissors, and he looked resigned.

“If you’re set on doing this,” he said, “will you allow me to cut your hair?”

Bella bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. “Dori,” she said at last, “I know what cutting hair means to Dwarves. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Dori shrugged and held his hands up. “And I couldn’t abide seeing what you’d end up like, if I let you take scissors to your own hair, with no mirror to look at.” Bella chuckled, conceding his point, and Dori nodded. “You’d be a right scarecrow, and no mistake,” he said. “Now come and sit on this chair, and I’ll see what’s to be done.”

He made quick work of it; soon the matted curls fell to the floor, and Bella’s head felt much lighter for it. Dori left it as long as he could, and set to work combing out the last tangles without giving her a chance to object – not that she would have objected, because she knew what he was trying to convey to her, with his actions. His brotherly affection for her was evident as he carefully teased out the knots until her curls were tame and tidy once more. 

Bella lifted her hands to feel her hair then. It was not as short as she’d feared – Dori had managed to keep more length than Bella would have, if she’d cut her own hair. The ends of the curls brushed against her neck, but didn’t reach her shoulders.

“It will grow back quickly,” she said, trying to reassure Dori. “And hopefully now I won’t have to contend with giant spiders and sneaking around in a dungeon, so I can take care of it properly.”

“I should hope so,” said Dori with an audible sniff. “Well, Bella dear, you look a mite different like this, I must say. But you were right – even the tangles higher up were tricky to work out, so I wouldn’t have dared touch the rest of it.” He patted her shoulder, and Bella stood quickly, turned towards him and hugged him, before Dori could object or withdraw.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re a wonderful friend, Dori.” She pulled away and smiled to see the fondness in his expression. “Shall we go down now?” she suggested. Dori offered her his arm, and Bella accepted it gladly, letting him escort her from the bedroom and down the landing to the stairs. There she went ahead of him, and she had hardly reached the bottom of the stairs before she was accosted by Kili.

“Bella!” he exclaimed. “You’re up! Are you feeling better, then?” His whole face was lit up with happiness, his mouth curved into a broad grin. “Everyone’ll be so happy. Won’t they, Dori?” He didn’t give Dori a chance to respond before hurtling down the hall in a way that made Bella feel tired just to look at him. “Fili! Ori! Bella’s up!” Kili yelled. Then he came back, and swept Bella into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

“Kili!” she exclaimed, and muffled a cough against his shoulder. “Put me down this instant,” she demanded, but Kili carried her through into the sitting room and deposited her into a comfortable – if overly large and Man sized – armchair beside the fireplace. Bella huffed at him and waved him away from her. Kili’s place was taken at once by Bofur, who looked at her closely, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to be up, lass?” he asked. “You look pale still.” 

“She just needs feeding up!” Bombur declared from somewhere in the room. Bella craned around, trying to see him, but then Oin appeared beside her chair, scowling at her disapprovingly. 

“Who said you could get out of bed?” he demanded. He reached out and checked her temperature, and then he shook his head and pursed his lips. “No fever,” he said. “You still have the cough?” Bella nodded, and Oin turned away from her. “Bombur! Tea!” he ordered. “With honey. Lots of honey!”

“Here you are.” Nori had appeared on the other side of the chair, as if out of thin air. He had a pile of blankets, and Bofur helped him to tuck them around Bella, until she was as snug and warm as she could wish. Fili came and leaned against the back of the armchair, and Ori sat cross-legged before her. All her Dwarves, Bella thought, and smiled at them. But no – not all. Thorin wasn’t here, of course – neither were Balin and Dwalin, and she assumed they were with him. Still, everyone else was here, crowding around her with cheerful faces and affectionate smiles. 

“Your _hair_ ,” said Ori mournfully, from his position on the ground in front of her. “Did you have to, Bella?”

“I did,” said Bella, giving her head a little shake so her curls bounced. “Dori did a good job, don’t you think?”

“It’s not what we think that matters,” Nori said. He’d retreated to a window seat, sprawled lazily across the width of it. He had a mischievous look about him. It put Bella on her guard; she liked Nori, but he had a clever tongue, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. 

“Ha,” Kili crowed. “You’re right. Two copper coins says he’ll yell.”

“No, no,” said Fili at once. Bella looked up at him, and he winked at her. “He’ll go quiet,” he went on. “Won’t speak a word for hours. Mum hates that,” he confided to Bella. “She says Kili’s just the same.” Then he ducked to avoid something Kili threw at him. 

“No point betting anyway,” Bofur pointed out. “Unless you’ve got a stash of coins hidden up your –,” He cut himself off and cleared his throat. Bella pretended she didn’t know what he’d been about to say. The months of travelling with Dwarves had exposed her to rather more vulgar language than she had ever heard in the Shire. Most of them didn’t even attempt to censor themselves any longer, which Bella took as a sign that they no longer saw her as a woman and an outsider, but merely another member of their Company. 

“Not even Gloin’s got anything left,” Fili laughed, straightening up again. Bifur said something in Khuzdul, to a general chorus of agreement. 

Bella shook her head. “I’d really rather you didn’t bet about me, anyway,” she said. “Or – well – I mean –,” She stopped, not entirely sure what she was trying to say but quite certain that whatever she did say, she would only be digging herself a bigger hole. Everybody knew, she realised, glancing around at them. Every one of them. Suddenly Bofur’s comments to her, yesterday and the night before, began to make sense. They were the words of a protective friend, trying to keep her from being pressured into something. She glanced at him now, and he was sharing in the others’ mirth, but he kept shooting her quick, assessing looks, as if he wanted to make sure she was alright. 

She couldn’t say anything to him now, not with everyone else here and listening. But later, Bella resolved, she would tell him what had passed between her and Thorin, and tell him how happy she was.

Bombur came in with a cup of tea for her, wading through the scattered Dwarves to her armchair. 

“There you go. Lunch is nearly ready,” he said, handing her the cup and then turning around and retracing his steps. Bofur gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, and then launched into a long-winded story about the things they’d been getting up to in the town, aided by interruptions from all and sundry. Bella laughed until she coughed, and then she coughed until she was breathless.

“I’m sorry, Bella,” Bofur apologised, when at last she had caught her breath again. “I didn’t mean for that.”

“I know,” Bella said, a little hoarse. “I’m on the mend, anyway.” She finished her tea, and exchanged the cup for the bowl of stew Bombur brought her. “Thank you, Bombur,” she said, smiling up at him. “It smells delicious.”

“Oi, where’s ours?” Bofur demanded.

“Get it yourselves,” Bombur retorted. He’d brought in Bella’s bowl, and one for himself, and now he settled himself down onto a stool. “You’ve all legs, haven’t you?” Bella bit back a smile and tucked in to her food as the other Dwarves made a beeline for the kitchen, jostling each other to be first. Ori ended up last, but he didn’t seem to mind, and when he returned with a full bowl of stew, he sat back down beside her.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he confided. “We were all worried. Especially Thorin, of course.” He ducked his head, clearing his throat in an embarrassed sort of way. Bella felt her cheeks warming, a blush working across her face against her will. The thought of Thorin made her stomach flutter oddly, and to be told that he’d been worried about her only made the fluttering worse. 

He loved her. That infuriating, stubborn, handsome Dwarf loved her – loved her enough, worried for her enough, that the others had seen it and seemed to take it as a fact, certain and solid. 

“We were, Bella,” said Kili, joining Ori on the floor beside her chair. He was looking up at her, eyes wide and expression earnest. “You sounded _awful_.”

“My brother the diplomat,” Fili commented, giving Kili a nudge with his foot as he went past. Kili restrained his retaliation to an awful grimace directed at his brother, making Bella laugh again. Fili settled in front of the fire, and gave her a kindly look. “Really, though,” he said. “We’re glad you’re getting better.”

“You’re all lovely,” Bella said, smiling at the three young Dwarves. “I’m –,”

A door slammed somewhere, startling Bella into silence. Heavy footsteps thumped down the hallway from the front door to the sitting room, and she could hear Dwalin’s voice, loud and angry, and Balin quieter and placating. Of Thorin she could hear nothing, but she sat a little straighter and looked eagerly at the door, ignoring Kili’s snigger and the way Fili nudged at her shoulder.

Dwalin came in first, half-twisted so he could keep talking to Balin, who was right behind him.

“I’m telling you, a Man like that, he’ll never have enough,” the burly warrior said to his brother. “Leaves a foul taste in my mouth.”

“I’m not saying differently, but we’ve no choice,” Balin said. “You know that as well as – Bella!” He practically beamed at her, and Dwalin straightened up and gave her a look of surprise, as if he’d not expected to see her up. “How are you, dear?” Balin asked her, side-stepping his brother and hurrying over to her. “Feeling better, I hope?”

“Much better,” Bella nodded, smiling at him. “And I’m glad to be up again.”

“And whose idea was that?”

Thorin stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, a distinctly annoyed look on his face as he regarded her. He looked weary, Bella noted, and she hoped it was merely that his meeting with the Master of Lake-town had gone badly.

“I am, as you know, entirely capable of making my own decisions,” she said, teasing him a little in hope of relieving some of his tension. A corner of his mouth twitched, just a little, as if he wanted to smile but wouldn’t allow himself to do so. 

“Stubborn as a mule, you mean,” Dwalin grunted, to uproarious laughter from the others. “A well-matched pair,” he added, with a grin. Bella blushed furiously, and tried to disappear into the cushions of the armchair. Fili put a hand on her shoulder, and when she glanced up at him, he gave her an encouraging smile.

“Don’t mind us,” he murmured, bending close so no-one else could hear him. “We’re all very pleased, Bella.” It was kind of him to reassure her, and Bella gave him a gracious nod. They liked to laugh, her Company of Dwarves, and they’d certainly poked fun at her often enough on the journey so far. But this was different, somehow, this was something precious and fragile, like a dandelion clock that would be blown away with the slightest puff of air. This change in her relationship with Thorin was too new for Bella to be quite comfortable enough for the Dwarves to tease her about it – or indeed to tease Thorin, who was rarely the subject of their amusement, at least not openly.

“Your hair,” Thorin said then, still standing in the doorway. “You’ve cut it.” Bella lifted a hand self-consciously to her curls, feeling the weight of his gaze upon her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There was no hint in his expression, only a kind of blankness, a kingly mask to hide his true feelings. Bella hated it, and always had, but she wasn’t sure she could blame him for cultivating such a mask.

“There wasn’t a choice, Thorin,” Dori said quickly, saving her from answering. But Thorin grunted, turned on his heel, and left without so much as putting the toe of his boots into the sitting room.

Bella looked down at her bowl, the stew half-finished. She was hungry, and she needed the nourishment – her thin hands, holding the bowl, reminded her of that much. If she were still the Hobbit that she had been six months ago, likely she would have shrugged her shoulders and finished her meal, dismissing Thorin’s behaviour as rudeness undeserving of interrupting her meal. But she was not the same; she had changed too much. Hungry or not, she could not let Thorin go like that, not if he were angry or upset or hurt. Not now that they were – that things were – 

“Kili, would you take my bowl?” she asked, holding the bowl of stew out to him even as she began to wriggle herself free from the blankets that they’d tucked around her. But Kili hid his hands behind his back and shook his head, an obstinate look on his face.

“No,” he said. “You finish eating before you go after him.”

“Why, Kili!” Bella was shocked, and she glanced at Fili, hoping for support. But Fili bore a similarly stubborn look, his jaw set, and he shook his head when she looked at him. “Fili?” she questioned, but Fili said nothing.

“Eat your lunch,” Bofur told her. He was leaning against the mantelpiece, bowl in one hand and spoon in the other. There was something hard in his voice, and there was a sternness in his expression. “He can wait for you, or he’s not worth it,” he added. “You’re nothing but skin and bones as it is, lass. Eat your lunch.”

“Bofur’s right,” Balin said, “although I’d not have put it quite like that.” Bofur muttered something under his breath. Gloin, who was closest to him, guffawed into his hand. Balin shook his head at both of them, but said nothing, instead turning back expectantly to Bella. “You’re too thin to be missing meals, Bella,” he said, in such a kindly, fatherly way that Bella was quite helpless to resist. “Go on, dear,” he added. “It was a hard meeting; give Thorin some time to calm himself down, hm?”

That melted away the last of her resolve. Bella knew Thorin well enough to know how his bad moods took him, especially when he felt helpless or had to humble himself to others for assistance. He had an independence of character that she admired, but it made things hard for him, and if that was his mood now, Bella knew he was liable to snap at her, if she went straight to him now – no matter their changed relationship. Not that she minded as much as she had at the beginning of their journey, for now she knew his ire wasn’t directed at her, and she was confident enough to give Thorin back as good as she got. But still, she had no intention of allowing them to quarrel on their very first day as betrothed.

So she ate her stew, and listened as the Dwarves bantered and laughed. There was an uneasiness running beneath their talk, though, a tension that ebbed and flowed as talk drifted towards the supplies they needed, and the path they might take towards Erebor. The dragon was never mentioned, but the thought of it hung over them all, and Bella tried not to let herself become afraid. Fear would do no good, she thought to herself crossly, because she had to go into the Mountain and face Smaug, no matter how scared she was. She’d signed a contract, after all, and given her word. 

A Baggins always keeps their word, her father had always said. Bella couldn’t disappoint him now, not after everything. Nor could she disappoint Thorin.

“Another helping?” Dori suggested, when her bowl was empty. “There’s plenty left.”

“Later,” Bella promised, setting aside the bowl and pushing aside layers of blankets. She would bring Thorin back from wherever he’d gone and make sure he ate something as well. Dori frowned, clearly not quite believing her. “I promise,” she said as she folded a blanket into a triangle and wrapped it around herself as a shawl. “You know how serious I am about my food,” she added, smiling widely at him.

“Let her go,” said Dwalin, from his seat in the corner of the room. His eyes were closed, his arms folded across his chest and his legs stretched out in front of him. “She’ll eat when she’s hungry, same as anyone else.” Bella huffed a laugh; he was right, but it was unexpected to be supported by Dwalin, who rarely regarded her with anything other than suspicion or confusion. 

“Thank you,” she said to him. He responded with a grunt, and so Bella shrugged and let it be. She left the sitting room, and the good company of her friends, and went in search of Thorin. 

The house was a good size, but not so large that Bella didn’t find Thorin with relative ease. There was a back door in the kitchen, and beyond it a boarded area that seemed to serve both as porch and jetty. A boat was tied to the mooring post, but it was damaged, half-sunk beneath the waters of the Long Lake. A barrel sat beside the back door, full of brackish rain water.

Thorin was leaning against the porch railing, looking out at the town of Men. He seemed to be watching them, the fishermen and the women doing their laundry, the children helping their parents. It was a poor town, and Bella wondered if it had prospered more, in the days before Smaug had come. Now everything here felt as though…as though it were dying, she thought, and felt helpless in the face of it.

He was smoking, she saw then. Somewhere he had acquired a pipe and pipe weed. He wasn’t a habitual smoker, but she’d seen him smoke before, occasionally. Usually only after a hard day’s travelling, or when Fili and Kili had been particularly boisterous. 

Bella stepped up to the rail, putting her hands on it and lifting her face into the cool breeze. Thorin did not move, nor did he speak. Bella let the silence rule them for a few moments before she spoke.

“I find it terribly unfair,” she said, “that you’ve found a pipe and tobacco somewhere, when I finished the last of my leaf weeks ago, and my pipe lies somewhere in Mirkwood.”

Thorin said nothing, but he glanced at her sidelong. Then he took the pipe from his mouth and offered it to her – a peace offering, Bella thought, and she took the pipe and put her own lips where his had been, a moment before. The pipe weed was Shire-grown, she could tell from the taste and the smell of it, but the lesser kind that they sold to traders, not the good stuff that they kept for themselves. Still, it was a taste of home, and there was something distinctly sensual about sharing a pipe with Thorin. 

She took a few good drags from it, and then she blew a smoke ring, just to see if he would react. She was happily rewarded; Thorin sighed, and some tension left his body. He moved his hand along the railing to cover hers, and when she offered him back his pipe, he turned towards her a little, his expression warmer than it had been before.

“I had to cut it,” Bella said apologetically. “It was too knotted for words. You’d never have been able to braid a bead in like that, you know.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Thorin said. He took his hand from the railing and reached out to touch her curls where they brushed against her cheek. “And it will grow,” he added. He tucked a curl behind her ear and Bella inhaled sharply at the feel of his fingers on her delicate ear. Thorin tilted his head slightly, puzzled, and then his eyes lit up and he traced the line of her ear with his forefinger. “Ah,” he murmured. “Are you sensitive here, beloved?” Bella nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. Thorin repeated the movement, stroking up from her earlobe to the very tip of the point and then down again, and her breath hitched in her throat.

“Thorin,” she whispered, reaching out to anchor herself against him. “Thorin.”

He left off teasing her then, putting his arm around her waist instead, so that she was snugly against his side. 

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “You’re not yet well.”

“I’d be inside if you were,” Bella pointed out pertly. “But now I’m here, I may as well finish this pipe for you.” She took another puff, but then a cough tickled at her throat, and Thorin took the pipe from her as her fingers grew slack, the cough still strong enough to make her feel weak and wretched. “Not a word,” she warned him, when she could speak again.

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Thorin, but she could see concern in his expression, in the way his jaw was set and his brow furrowed a little. She leaned into him, soaking up his warmth. Thorin put the pipe out, smothering the embers with his thumb, and then he put it away in a pocket and held her in both arms. Bella rested her cheek against his chest and revelled in the closeness of him.

“Did the meeting go so badly?” she asked after a while. “With the Master?” She felt him sigh, his chest rising and falling with it.

“No,” he said. “Or rather, Balin would not say so. They will give us all the supplies we need – food, a boat to cross the lake and Men to row it for us, and ponies to carry our supplies to the Mountain. They are being very generous.”

“Ah,” said Bella. Generous indeed, but she knew that sort of generosity. She’d not met the Master properly; when they’d arrived in Lake-town, Bella had felt too ill and too weary to want to do anything but allow her Dwarves to keep her hidden in their midst. But she’d heard enough of his words, and seen enough of both his home and the town, to know what sort of a Man he was. She lifted her head to look up at Thorin, and offered him a crooked smile. “And what do they want in return?” she inquired, and Thorin smiled mirthlessly.

“The price,” he said, “has not been named. The Master seems sure of an ample reward, should our quest succeed.” Bella made a face, and Thorin nodded. “A Man like that is rarely satisfied with a fair price,” he agreed. “But we have no choice.”

Bella lifted her hand and gently traced the lines of his frown. His expression eased a little, and when she cupped his cheek, he turned his face into her touch. Some part of her wondered if this was still a dream, but it was only a small part, diminishing as the minutes went past. Her doubts and fears could not withstand the way he looked at her and the way he touched her. His hands were at her waist, and his thumb was rubbing lightly across her hip – she didn’t think he was even aware of it, the movement was so slight.

“Hobbits,” she said, “are very good at haggling.” A smile tugged at Thorin’s lips, and his eyes were warm as he looked down at her. Bella moved her fingers a little to touch his smile, feeling as though she wanted to commit it to memory by touch as well as by sight. She did so love it when he smiled – and it happened so rarely, and would no doubt become rarer still, now that they were so close to Erebor and Smaug and their journey’s end. 

Thorin kissed her forefinger, distracting her. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, especially when he parted his lips and swirled his tongue over the pad of the finger. Bella swayed a little, imagining his tongue on other parts of her. Her breasts felt heavy; he had clever fingers, and a clever tongue, and she could well imagine him toying with her breasts, tweaking her nipples into hardness, perhaps nipping at them with his teeth as he nipped at her finger now, ever so gently.

“You were saying?” he said, letting her finger go. Bella blinked rapidly, and shook herself.

“Yes,” she said, to buy herself time while she remembered what it was she had intended to say. “Yes,” she repeated. “When the time comes to repay the Master – would you let me try to bargain with him?”

Thorin smoothed his hands up from her waist, up her torso, until his hands came to rest on her shoulders. “If you wish it,” he agreed. “Although I can’t stand the thought of you in his company.”

“I’ll pay him fairly,” Bella said, “but not more than fairly. He’s not bargained with a Hobbit before, I imagine.” She grinned, remembering some of the more interesting bargains she’d witnessed in the Shire. Hobbits were fair, as a rule, but haggling was part of any purchase, and they enjoyed the process of it far more than the idea of walking away with a good deal. Often, indeed, she’d seen a customer walk away from a stall or a shop having paid more than he intended. But Bella was good at it, the back and forth banter of a good haggle, and she had no intention of allowing the Master to wheedle more gold from Thorin than was his due.

Thorin reached down and kissed her forehead, and then her mouth. Bella wrapped her arms around him, clasping her hands together behind his neck, and deepened the kiss, flicking her tongue at the seam of his lips until he opened for her. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her secure against him. He tasted of the tobacco he’d been smoking, and she knew she must taste the same. Then she lost her thoughts for a while, drowning herself in his touch, the feel of his mouth on hers. 

She was pressed up against him, her breasts squashed between them, his leg nudging between hers. Arousal curled low in her belly and her loins. Thorin turned his attention away from her mouth then, and she cried out in protest. But he kissed her jaw, her throat, grazing his teeth across her pulse, his mouth going as low as he could before the neckline of her dress stopped him. Then he moved upwards, kissing and licking his way across her skin, and Bella whimpered a little when he licked a broad stripe up the shell of her ear. 

“I can scarcely believe that I am allowed to touch you,” he murmured. “I never thought – I was so cold to you, so harsh –,”

“All in the past,” she soothed him, and caught his mouth with hers once more. One of his hands wandered to the small of her back, keeping her close to him – not that Bella had any intention of going anywhere, not so long as he kept kissing her like this. 

They didn’t stop kissing until her mouth felt raw from it. When at last they parted, Thorin touched her lips with gentle fingers.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed. There was something awed about his expression, a wondering look in his wide eyes. It made Bella feel shy, somehow, and she looked down, focusing on the top button of his shirt. It wanted mending; the thread holding it to the shirt was slack and worn. Thorin lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “You are,” he told her. “You are beautiful, and clever. You are too brave for your own good, and far too kind.” 

“Don’t make me out to be something I’m not,” Bella said. “I’m not – I’m not brave. Not at all. Most of the time I’m scared stiff.” She wasn’t perfect, and she wouldn’t let him think so, no matter how much it might flatter her ego.

“Shall I point out your faults, then?” Thorin asked, amused. He smiled widely, and Bella pursed her lips and shook her head. She knew her faults well enough. “I’m not blind to them,” Thorin went on. “But I love you for your stubbornness just as much as I do for your cleverness, beloved.”

“And a good thing too,” Bella said, pushing aside her shyness, “because you’re as hard-headed as a rock sometimes, Thorin. I’ll have to be stubborn, to match you.” That startled a laugh from him, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You will be a good queen,” he told her, his voice a low rumble that she could feel in his chest, pressed against him as she was. It took her a moment to register what he’d said, and then she stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh,” she said, letting out a long breath. “Oh. Oh, I’d forgotten about that part.” Thorin didn’t laugh again, but she could see it was a near thing from the way his eyes danced. Bella huffed, and poked his shoulder with a finger. “Oh, laugh at me, do,” she complained. “We’ve no kings in the Shire, as you know very well.”

“I do,” he said, solemn but for the merriment she could see clearly in his expression. “But you are fair, and determined, and I know you care about the fate of my people.” Bella nodded, but said nothing. “And,” Thorin added, “you are not afraid to tell me when you think I am wrong.”

“Well, that’s true,” Bella agreed. She tugged gently at one of his braids, and obligingly he kissed her once again, so tenderly that she thought her heart might burst from it. For so long she had thought that he could never think of her with kindness, let alone affection, and she had determinedly ignored all of her feelings and desires, pushing them aside and focusing on other things. The rain, the travel, the food – or lack of it – had all been useful ways to stop herself thinking about Thorin. But now she did not have to stop herself, and more than that – now she was allowed, even encouraged, to think of him and to touch him. She could be honest, and need no longer fear rejection.

At length the kiss ended, and Thorin rested his forehead against hers. “I spoke truly,” he murmured. “You will be an excellent queen.” Bella closed her eyes and thought about it, but she couldn’t picture it – her only reference for royalty was the books she had read, and Thorin and the boys. Neither Fili nor Kili showed any sign of their heritage, in word or deed, and Thorin – well, Thorin was Thorin, as dedicated a ruler as any in her books. But she could not be Thorin, and she could not envisage herself crowned beside him.

Still, there was no use thinking about any of that, not yet.

“We still have to face the dragon,” she pointed out practically. “We’ve not got your mountain back yet, your majesty, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She opened her eyes again and met startling blue, and then Thorin sighed and loosened his hold on her.

“Aye,” he said. “We’ll be ready to depart tomorrow, if you’re well enough.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bella assured him. Thorin gave her a sceptical look, but Bella was firm. “The cough is lingering,” she said, “but it’s only a cough – as long as it’s gone before we find a way into the mountain, I don’t see why it should stop me.”

“If Oin agrees,” Thorin declared. Bella frowned, but she could see it was no use arguing. Still, Oin was hardly likely to say she still needed to be cosseted and looked after – not when she was feeling so much better. She was still thin, of course, but there was nothing to be done about that. 

On cue her stomach grumbled, reminding her that there was more stew waiting for her in the kitchen – and that Thorin, too, needed to eat. Thorin’s mirth had gone, bled away by his worries and his steadfast determination to retake his kingdom, but he managed a slight smile for her.

“You must eat, beloved,” he said. “You’ve grown so thin.” He caught her hand in his and closed his fingers around her wrist, as he had two nights before. “You suffered more than we, in Thranduil’s palace,” he muttered darkly. Bella wanted to soothe him, to tell him that she had survived and that she would be fine, but it didn’t seem quite right, somehow. She _had_ suffered, after all, and she was thinner than she’d seen any Hobbit. She would not deny it now, not when two days ago she had been angry that the Dwarves hadn’t seemed to recognise how much she had been through for them.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said at last. “It’s over.” Thorin looked as though he might argue, but Bella forestalled him. “Thorin,” she said, “I…would like to ask something of you, but this is…we are so new, and I…”

“Bella,” said Thorin gently, “you have never hesitated to speak your mind to me. Why do you falter now?” She’d never hesitated, that was true, but then she’d never asked him to her bed before, and despite the kisses they had shared, despite his assurance that Dwarves did not abstain from bed play during courtship, she was nervous of asking it of him. Thorin watched her closely now, and he took her hands in his. “Bella,” he prompted. “What is it?”

“Come to my bed tonight,” Bella said, the words tumbling together in her haste to speak them. She was sure she was blushing. She dropped her head forward, resting her forehead against his chest so she didn’t have to look at him. She felt, more than heard, his sharp inhalation. Then he pressed a kiss to her head and squeezed her hands.

”Bella,” he murmured. “Beloved. My bold love.” He was so tender, his voice so full of wonder, that Bella almost found herself beginning to cry. She quelled the urge, dismissing it as foolish. He had spoken so before, and she knew – she _knew_ that he loved her. The knowledge of it was sinking deep into her bones. It was no cause to cry, not even happy tears. 

Bella Baggins, she thought to herself, you are not some lovesick Proudfoot. She was a Baggins and a Took and she needed to pull herself together. She wasn’t an innocent young tween, first beginning to learn the pleasure that could be derived from two bodies together. She lifted her head and looked at Thorin, at her betrothed. She met his gaze, and repeated her words, slower and more clearly.

“Come to my bed tonight,” she said. “If it’s our last night before leaving Lake-town – come to my bed.”

“You honour me,” Thorin told her. “But are you well enough, Bella?” She nodded, and gave him a look that dared him to disagree. Thorin smiled suddenly, a wide, pleased smile that made him look young and carefree. “Then I shall come to you tonight,” he agreed. His smile faded; something anticipatory entered his expression, and the blue of his eyes seemed to darken. “I will look forward to it,” he murmured. 

Bella’s heartbeat quickened, and she leaned against him and tilted her head up, inviting another kiss. Thorin bent his head, but his mouth had barely brushed hers when they were interrupted by Bofur clearing his throat. 

Thorin’s eyes flashed with annoyance, and he turned his face outwards, towards the town rather than towards the kitchen door – hiding his frustration, Bella thought. She took a breath, and then she gently disentangled herself from Thorin and turned to her friend.

“Hello, Bofur,” she greeted. “Did you need something?”

“Balin wants Thorin,” Bofur said. He stood in the doorway, arms braced against the doorframe, and an unreadable expression on his face. “And you said you’d have some more food, Bella. It’ll get cold if you’re not careful.”

“Aye, you must,” said Thorin at once, putting a hand on Bella’s shoulder. Bella rolled her eyes at the pair of them, but had to concede that she did need to eat.

“Alright,” she said, “but you’ve got to eat too, Thorin. Take a bowl with you when you go to see what Balin needs.” Thorin bowed his head in silent agreement. Bofur went back inside, and Thorin let Bella take his hand and pull him into the kitchen. She filled a bowl for him from the pot of stew beside the stove, and gave it to him with a stern look. “You’ll eat it,” she said. In a corner of the kitchen, Bofur was grinning, but Bella ignored him. 

Thorin gave her a fond, but exasperated look. “I’m not the one who looks half-starved, mistress,” he pointed out. Bella lifted an eyebrow, and Thorin lifted a hand. “Peace,” he said. “I’ll eat. See to your own food, beloved.” Bella would have spoken, but her rumbling stomach made words unnecessary; Thorin smirked at her, and then seemed to decide that he’d better leave before she could say anything further.

Bofur laughed, and came to sit at the kitchen table. Bella shook her head at him, but filled a bowl with stew and sat beside him at the table. She had to practically climb onto the stool, it was so tall, but she felt safe enough when she was perched on it at last. 

“So,” said Bofur then, slouching against the table, “you and Thorin.”

Bella didn’t look up from her stew. The smell of the stew had made her hunger fiercer; she was trying to eat slowly, to save herself from stomach ache, but it took willpower and she didn’t quite dare allow herself to get too distracted from the task. Besides that, she wasn’t sure what she would see if she were to look up at Bofur. He had become a great friend – and more than that, it was as though he was the older brother she had never had. He had helped her learn how to travel, he had cheered her up when she was low; he had taught her how to make a fire, and he had tended to her hurts, both physical and emotional.

“Yes,” she said. “Me and Thorin.” Bofur said nothing, so Bella risked a glance at him. He looked thoughtful, but perhaps not as disapproving as he’d seemed earlier. Bella hesitated, not sure what to say. Then she reached out and touched his hand. “Be happy for me, Bofur,” she entreated.

Bofur pursed his lips and shook his head a little. “Bella,” he sighed. “The way he’s treated you. And now he says he loves you? It’s a bit hard to believe, you have to admit.”

“I know.” Bella ate a spoonful of stew, considering what to say. “He does love me, though,” she said at last. “And I…”

“I know, lass,” Bofur said. He sounded almost sympathetic, and Bella wondered how long he had seen her feelings – she wondered, with horror, whether anyone else had known. “But is he serious?” Bofur questioned her then. “You said yesterday he’d not spoken of a bead – ,”

“He has now,” Bella said quickly. She lifted a hand to touch her short curls. She would look ridiculous with a bead braided into her hair, but if it was a Dwarven custom, she would accept it. Just as Thorin had accepted that, by Hobbit standards, they were already as committed to each other as they could be without a wedding. “He doesn’t have one now,” she went on, “or he’d have given it to me already, I think. He talks of it, anyway. And of marriage.” Bofur said nothing; she looked at him again, and found him scowling down at the tabletop. Bella bit her lip and then applied herself to her stew. She would let him speak in his own time, and not hurry him. 

At last Bofur heaved a great sigh. “Well, lass,” he said, “I’m still not sure I like it. But if you’re sure, and you’re happy, I suppose that’s good enough for me.” Bella began to smile, but he pointed a finger at her and continued. “I’ll be happier when I see a bead in your hair, mind,” he told her. “And if he ever hurts you, he’ll be in trouble – king or not. I’ve seen you cry over him one too many times, and I’ll not see it again.” 

Bella tried to hide how touched she was. “Well,” she said, and cleared her throat. She should have predicted the results of that, she thought sourly as she began to cough. Still, the coughing fit was over quickly, and although her chest and throat still hurt a little, she thought the cough was beginning to ease.

“I’ll get you some more of that tea and honey,” Bofur said, when Bella could catch her breath. “Though how you can drink that stuff is beyond me.” 

“Honey’s good for my throat,” she explained, returning her attention to her stew.

“Why not just eat honey, then?” Bofur teased as he clambered off his stool and went to put the kettle over the stove. “Seems like it’d be simpler. Put some meat back on your bones, too.” 

“Yes, do keep commenting on how thin I am,” Bella said dryly. “Truly, it’s such a comfort to keep being reminded of it.” Bofur chuckled at her, and she shook her head a little and ate another spoonful of stew. The food tasted of nothing, suddenly, and sat heavy in her stomach. She looked at her skinny wrist, and thought of the sagging skin at her belly, the smallness of her breasts, and the way her bones jutted out everywhere. She’d never been one to fret about her appearance – never had any need to, for she’d always been as plump and rounded as the next Hobbit woman – but she worried a little now. Thorin had commented on her weight – what if, when he saw her, he was repulsed? 

But he had kissed her, she reasoned to herself, and she had _felt_ his desire for her. His comments had been from concern, that was all. She would put on weight quickly, even on meagre travel rations. It would still be more than she’d had to eat in Mirkwood. Soon enough she would look like a proper Hobbit again.

Unless they all got eaten by a dragon first, of course. Then it wouldn’t matter how skinny she was. The thought made her sigh heavily, drawing Bofur’s attention.

“Now that’s a heavy face for a lass in love,” he observed. “What’re you thinking about, Bella? Not Thorin, I hope.”

“No,” said Bella. She scraped up the last of her stew and then pushed the bowl away from her, accepting the cup of steaming tea Bofur gave her in its place. “Just…thinking about what’s ahead of us, I suppose.” She blew on the surface of the tea as Bofur got back onto his stool beside her. “The dragon,” she added. “Do the people here think Smaug lives, still?”

“Aye.” Bofur looked grim; even he, Bella thought, could not laugh about the dragon now, when they were so close. “Some folk have been close enough to see smoke coming from the front gates,” he said. “He’s in there.” 

Bella held the hot cup between her hands and felt a cold shiver down her spine. “Well, it was too much to hope he’d died,” she said, trying to sound calm and practical. “Hopefully he’ll be asleep, though. Didn’t Gandalf say something about dragons sleeping for years at a time?”

Bofur shrugged. “Aye, he did, but let’s face it, lass, we’ve not had the best of luck so far, have we?” He nudged Bella with his elbow and smiled a forced kind of smile. “Still, you’ve got us out of most scrapes so far,” he went on. “Think you’re up to facing a dragon?”

“Since I’ve no choice,” Bella said tartly, “I suppose I’ll have to be.” It was true enough. She had signed a contract, and it was her job to go into the Mountain and steal…well, whatever it was she’d been contracted to steal. Both Thorin and Balin had been cagey about what, precisely, she was to burgle. She’d asked more than once since setting out from Hobbiton, but she’d never had a satisfactory answer. Well, as long as it wasn’t the whole hoard of gold, Bella supposed she would manage, somehow. She wasn’t a burglar, no matter what Gandalf said, but she wouldn’t let Thorin – or herself – down now.

“Don’t think about it now,” Bofur advised. His eyes were warm as he looked at her, his expression kind, and it cheered Bella up. “You’ve better things to occupy yourself, I imagine,” Bofur added, waggling his eyebrows. Bella blushed hotly, and suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. Bofur laughed and nudged her again. “Oh, I saw you two out there,” he teased. “I could’ve burned myself, the heat coming off the pair of you. At least I’ve no doubts about that!”

“Bofur,” she gasped, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my goodness.”

“I’m only teasing you,” he said, still chuckling. “Don’t mind me, lass.”

“It’s not that I _mind_ , exactly,” Bella mumbled, “but we’re – it’s –, ” She dropped her hands into her lap and turned to him. “It’s too new,” she said, and despised the tremulous note in her voice. “You might give me time to get used to it, before you all tease so.” 

Bofur reached out and took her hands in his. “I think I see the way of it. But they’re all happy for you, Bella, I swear.” He was earnest, and Bella squeezed his hands gently.

“I know,” she said, “and truly, I won’t mind the teasing – but not today, please? Let it all become quite, quite real in my mind before you tease? Tomorrow you may laugh and poke fun as much as you wish.”

Bofur raised his eyebrows. “Oh, aye,” he said, extremely interested. “So what’s happening tonight, then?” Bella blushed again, and Bofur couldn’t hold back another laugh. He rocked back on his stool so much he almost toppled off it, but Bella had hold of his hands and pulled him firmly back upright. 

“You’re the silliest Dwarf I know,” Bella fussed at him. “These stools are too tall for you to be falling off. Be more careful, Bofur.”

“I’ve had worse falls,” Bofur said with a wide grin. “Now, you finish up that tea. I’ll go and have a quiet word with one or two of the lads, make sure they behave themselves.” He clambered off the stool once more, then paused and looked back up at her. “There’s plenty more stew,” he reminded her. “And fresh bread, besides.”

Bella smiled down at him. “Bofur,” she said, “no matter what happens in the Mountain, I won’t regret any of this. You’re a better friend than I ever could have dreamed of having.” A slow blush crept across Bofur’s cheeks, and Bella turned back to her cup of tea, sure he’d be too flustered to say anything. “Oh!” she cried then, twisting around once more to look at him. “Could you do something for me?”

“After a compliment like that, how could I say no?” Bofur answered, still flushed red.

“Would you ask Nori to come here?” she asked. “I want to talk to him.” Bofur gave her a sceptical look, but Bella couldn’t – or perhaps wouldn’t – explain to him that his talk of beads had given her an idea. Thorin had lost his beads, and Bella had never had any to begin with, and of course Thorin had no access to a forge or tools to make beads…but that didn’t mean there were no beads to be found in Lake-town, and perhaps even a second-hand, makeshift bead would still serve well enough as a sign of courting, at least for now.

She would look ridiculous, with a bead braided into her tight curls, but it might give her courage when she had to face the dragon.

And if there were beads to be found in Lake-town, there was only one Dwarf she knew who would be able to acquire them for her without asking questions.

“Alright,” said Bofur with a shrug. “If you say so.” He ambled from the kitchen, and Bella could hear him calling out for Nori. She sipped her tea while she waited; Bofur might not have a taste for it, but she liked chamomile tea, and the sweetness of the honey was very welcome. Her throat felt better for it – reason enough to drink a gallon of tea, especially if – 

Well, better not to think about that now. Tonight would come soon enough, and there was no sense anticipating it.

“You summoned me, my lady,” said Nori. He was the only Dwarf who made little or no noise when he moved, even in his boots, and his sudden appearance in the kitchen made Bella jump a little. She jerked the cup, and tea sloshed over her hand. It wasn’t hot enough to burn, but she gave Nori a disapproving look anyway.

“Thank you,” she said. “Just what I wanted, a sticky hand.” Nori grinned at her, unrepentant, and Bella shook her head, climbed off her stool, and went to wash her hands at the sink. “Why do you call me that?” she wanted to know. “First Fili, now you – whatever are you doing?”

“It’s escaping your notice that you’re betrothed to our king, is it?” Nori said with a smirk. “You’ll have to get used to it, Bella. If we all make it through this madness, you’ll be our queen before long.”

“I’m trying not to think about that,” Bella said, quite truthfully. She would have loved Thorin if he’d been nothing more than a wandering blacksmith; she had no desire to be queen, and she disliked seeing the burden upon Thorin that was kingship. He bore his responsibilities proudly, but worry and shame and fear drove him and wearied him. She would take it away from him, if she could do it without removing some vital part of Thorin. But she couldn’t; Thorin without his crown would not be the Thorin she knew and loved. 

Nori didn’t seem surprised, but he said nothing further on the subject. “What d’you need?” he asked instead.

Bella dried her hands and leaned back against the sink. “I was hoping you might be able to get something for me,” she said. “Or – find something for me, maybe. I’m not sure.” She shrugged and offered a helpless smile. “I’m not well-versed in the right terms for such things,” she had to admit. A burglar she might be, according to the contract, but so far all she’d stolen was – 

Well, she hadn’t really stolen the ring, had she? She’d just picked it up off the ground. Finding things wasn’t the same as stealing them, not at all.

“Ah,” said Nori, intrigued. “And what sort of a something might you be after? And why can’t you get it from someone else?”

Bella took a breath and let it out slowly. “Beads,” she said at last. “I want two beads.”

“Ah,” said Nori. He looked at her then with respect, and approval. It made Bella feel awkward, and she fidgeted and looked anywhere but at Nori. He said nothing else, not until Bella pulled herself together and lifted her gaze to him once more. “Any requirements, my lady?” he asked then, rocking back on his heels as he watched her.

“Don’t take them from anyone who can’t afford it,” she said at once. “These people – they’ve little enough as it is.”

“The Master has plenty,” Nori pointed out. Bella said nothing, and after a moment he nodded. The Master it would be, if he could find beads there. Bella was glad he wouldn’t argue with her over that, but then Nori and his brothers knew more than a little about poverty. “Anything else?” Nori asked.

“No,” said Bella. “No, I – use your own judgement, please, Nori.” She shrugged and spread her hands. “You know far more about your traditions than I do, after all.”

“I’ll find something suitable,” Nori promised. He crossed the room and took one of her hands. Startled, Bella watched with wide eyes as he bent over it and kissed her knuckles. “You’ll do alright,” he said with assurance. “We’ll be glad to call you queen, Bella.”

“Oh, be off with you, and stop teasing me,” Bella said, but she wasn’t as cross as she tried to sound, and Nori knew it. He sauntered off with a jaunty wave, and Bella was left alone in the kitchen.

Queen, she thought to herself. Queen.

“Oh, Bella Baggins,” she murmured. “You’re getting to be as foolish as any Took, my girl.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut.

“I’ve not seen you in a dress since the night we met,” Thorin observed, closing the door behind him and then leaning against it to watch her. Night had fallen, and Bella had excused herself from the company some time before, claiming weariness. Dori had insisted on bringing her up a hot brick and another cup of tea; the brick had grown cold in the bed, waiting for her arrival, but she had drunk the tea.

“I remember,” said Bella. She had been stargazing through her window; now she closed the curtains and went to warm her toes by the fire. “You called me an old nursemaid,” she reminded him. She could look on the memory with some fondness, now that they had come so far together. The sting of it had gone, and had been gone for some time. “I was so cross I could hardly speak,” she added. “And then you asked me about weapons – when you could see very well that I’d never touched any blade bigger than those in my kitchen.”

Thorin came to stand beside her before the fireplace, a chagrined expression on his face.

“I thought you beautiful then,” he admitted to her. “I couldn’t believe Gandalf had led us to your home. You were…not what I was expecting.”

“You were rude,” she said, daring to lean against him. Thorin put an arm around her waist, holding her comfortably at his side. His hand rested on her hip, warm through her dress. “Very rude,” she added. “In the Shire it’s not good manners to insult one’s host, you know.”

“I was rude,” Thorin agreed. “But you were so beautiful, and so flustered. Kind, too, to a group of Dwarves who showed up on your doorstep. Many wouldn’t have fed us.” Bella hmphed. Any decent Hobbit would feed any visitor that came to their home, particularly those in need, no matter what the hour. She hadn’t done anything particularly kind – quite the reverse, in fact, for she’d fussed and nagged while they ransacked her pantry, feasted on her stores, and then flung her crockery about. They’d deserved her ire, for they’d been ill-mannered guests, but deserved or no, she had not hidden her irritation. If that was kindness, she refused to think about what manner of reception the wandering Dwarves of Erebor had received elsewhere. She leaned her head against him, but did not argue the point with him. “I did not want to take you into danger,” he said then. “You were too…”

“Soft,” Bella completed for him, with a merry laugh. “You can say it. I was soft. I still am, I suppose.”

“Precious,” Thorin finished mildly. “You are too precious. I suppose I sought to dissuade you from coming by being unutterably rude to you, although I don’t recall doing so purposefully.” He used his hand on her hip to angle her around, until they were nearly pressed chest to chest. Bella rested her hands on his shoulders and tilted her head up to look at him. In the firelight and candlelight, his eyes seemed a deep, dark blue. 

“It didn’t work,” she said, and Thorin chuckled.

“Yes,” he said. “I had noticed. You seem to have a habit for flinging yourself into dangerous situations without looking first.”

“Look who’s talking!” Bella retorted, feigning outrage. But Thorin’s smile was deep, his eyes crinkled with humour, and Bella couldn’t pretend to be anything other than delighted that he was here with her like this. She lifted herself up on tiptoe and rubbed her nose against his for a moment. Then he kissed her tenderly, cupping her face in his hands. Bella hummed into his mouth and tangled a hand in his hair, winding a braid around her forefinger.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips, when he withdrew just far enough to allow her to breathe. “Have I said it yet today, beloved?” She shook her head, just a little, for his hands still held her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “I love you,” he said again. “Beloved. _Ghivashel_.”

“Ghivashel,” Bella repeated. She turned her face so she could press a kiss to his palm. “What does that mean, please?”

“It is not easy to translate,” Thorin said. “But perhaps…treasure of treasures. Most precious treasure.” Bella made a face and tugged at the braid in her hand, hard enough to make him wince a little, although she thought that perhaps he was making a bit of a show of it. “Ow,” he said, but without any censure. He looked down at her with confusion, and took his hands from her face. “Do you not like it?” he asked. “Our language sounds harsher than the common tongue, I know, but –,”

“Hobbits have no need of treasure,” Bella interrupted him. “Not the way you Dwarves do. Or at least, our treasures are the things we grow in the soil, and create in our kitchens. Not rocks and stones.” Thorin began to look incredulous, and a little offended – his Dwarven pride taking offence at her casual dismissal of the metals and gems that his race held dear – but Bella soothed him. “I like ‘beloved’,” she said. “But I think I like best the way you say my name. I waited so long to hear it from you, you know.”

“I…think I see,” said Thorin slowly, but his eyebrows were drawn together and his brow was furrowed. “Or perhaps all I see is that I still have much to learn about Hobbits.”

“No more than I have to learn about Dwarves,” said Bella gaily, hoping to coax him back into a more pleasant mood. “We’ll have to teach each other, my love.”

“We shall,” he agreed, beginning to relax again. “You have not called me that before, beloved.” He took her hand from where it was still clasped around his braid, and he kissed her fingertips, each in turn. 

“Have I not?” Bella asked, feeling a trifle breathless suddenly in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering soreness from her cough. “Do you dislike it, my love?” she teased. Something flared hot and dark in Thorin’s expression, something possessive and lustful, and for a moment Bella felt arrested in his gaze, held still and silent under the intensity of it. 

“How could I dislike it, when it is you who call me so?” he asked her, and Bella shook her head, lacking an answer. Thorin put her hand on his chest above his heart, and then put his own hand on her chest, the heel of it resting over the swell of her breast. “My heart is yours,” he told her. “I would this instant vow it into your keeping forever, if I could.”

“Thorin,” she whispered. “How can you know such a thing? How can either of us? We’ve barely known each other a handful of months –,”

“Are you not sure, then?” he interrupted, looking down on her with concern. “Bella, beloved, I will not push you beyond what you want. I had hoped we were of one mind in this, but I do understand that you must have doubts, after the way I have treated you.”

“No, no,” Bella said quickly. She curled her fingers into his shirt, to keep him from moving away from her. It was a futile gesture, she knew; if he wanted to go, her flimsy hold on his shirt would not stop him. “I don’t doubt your love,” she tried to reassure him. “I – I can see that, in the way you look at me.” And in the way he touched her, too – not the lustful touches, the impassioned embraces they had shared, but the gentle caresses, the tenderness. Those spoke of love. She no longer doubted that, although perhaps he was right, perhaps she should still hold onto her doubts until time reassured her.

But they were to face a dragon. Bella did not have time; all she could do was trust her heart and her instincts, and everything told her that Thorin loved her. 

“I suppose I’m afraid, a little,” she said at last, “of what being loved by you means.” She lifted her free hand quickly, putting her fingers to his lips to quell his questions. “Fili and Nori have taken to calling me ‘my lady’,” she said, trying to explain to him. “I’m just a simple Hobbit, Thorin. You should love somebody far grander than me. I’m not ready to be a queen.”

Thorin took a breath and released it slowly. Bella withdrew from him, and wrapped her arms about herself. She couldn’t read his expression – oh, how she loathed that blankness – and so it surprised her when he swept her into his arms and took her to the chair. She yelped, and clung to him, but Thorin did not drop her. He seated himself and settled her into his lap, his arms secure around her waist.

“You are not ‘just’ anything,” he growled, fierce and determined. “Anyone who says so is a fool. Bella, you left your home to help us reclaim ours. You saved our lives with the trolls, and then you saved my life by charging in, alone, to face the monster from my darkest nightmares. You have no training, no battle skills – but you did it anyway.”

“I had no choice,” Bella protested, flushing. “I couldn’t just let you die like that.”

“You were afraid, but you acted anyway,” Thorin returned. “What other meaning can you give to the word courage? You are the bravest of us all, beloved, and I would not have you think that you are anything less than worthy.” She hid her face against his shoulder, still blushing hotly, but his words pleased her as much as they embarrassed her. “I am the one still to prove his worth,” Thorin muttered then. “I have not behaved towards you as I should.”

“Well,” Bella said, straightening up to look at him again, “you improved, after Azog. And lately you’ve been positively charming.” Thorin chuckled, and Bella had to kiss him then, for she did so love the way he looked when he smiled. She caught his lower lip between her teeth, anticipation crawling up her spine when he growled a low growl. Then he teased her in turn, coaxing her mouth open with his clever tongue. Bella smoothed his hair with her hand, and then lightly scratched his scalp, because she remembered his reaction when she’d done that before. Gratifyingly, Thorin made a low, rumbling noise in his chest, and Bella smiled into their kiss. Then Thorin lifted a hand and stroked two fingers up her ear. Bella shuddered, and Thorin broke their kiss to laugh softly.

”Unfair,” Bella complained breathlessly. “Oh, _unfair_ , Thorin!”

“I need every advantage I can get, beloved,” Thorin insisted, with more merriment than she thought was warranted. “How sensitive are your ears?” he asked then. His voice darkened, and Bella shifted in his lap, slinging a leg across so she was astride him, her feet dangling and her dress rucked up about her knees. 

“Very,” she said, as Thorin put a hand at her waist to steady her. “Our ears are _extremely_ sensitive.”

“Ahh,” said Thorin softly. He touched her earlobe, then stroked his fingers up the shell of her ear once more, and lightly pinched the pointed tip. Bella shuddered again, and her hips jerked forward a little. Thorin chuckled and repeated his actions. Bella clutched at his shoulders and couldn’t seem to help the high whine that escaped her. The sensations sent sparks racing through her body, making her breasts feel heavy, tightening her nipples, arousal building slowly under his ministrations.

“You look as though you could peak from this alone,” Thorin said wonderingly. “Can you, beloved? What if I –,” He cut himself off and leaned forward, and before Bella quite realised what he intended, he licked a wet stripe up her ear, and then dragged his mouth down to suck the lobe into his mouth. His teeth scraped gently against her skin; his beard was rougher against her neck, but Bella flung her head back and gave him all the access he wanted.

“N-no,” she managed to say, although he’d likely not expected an answer. “No, I’ve never – not from – _Thorin_!” He touched both her ears now, one with a hand and the other with his mouth, and Bella moaned, grinding down against him, lust spiking in her loins. She’d experimented before, of course – Hobbits were not in the habit of denying themselves pleasure, and every tween in history had been astounded to discover how sensitive their ears became once they left puberty behind them. She had never peaked through a touch on her ears alone, but she didn’t doubt that Thorin would try.

She reached wildly, and grabbed at the hand that was teasing her left ear. She brought it to her mouth, determined to make him feel at least a little of what she felt, and she nipped at his forefinger and then took it into her mouth, sucking at the digit and feeling his other fingers curl around her jaw.

“Bella,” Thorin groaned. “Ah, beloved.” He left off his ministrations to her ears and watched her, his pupils dilated. Bella smirked around his finger, and then drew it from her mouth and licked her lips. 

“We have such fire,” she said. “Do you feel how I react to you, Thorin?” He nodded, mute. Bella took his hand and held it to her breast, shoving aside her insecurities. His hand was so large, and she had grown so thin and small. But Thorin cupped her breast and murmured something in Khuzdul. 

“My precious Bella,” he said, returning to the common tongue. “Most beloved.” He moved his thumb, as if seeking something, and then he found her nipple and stroked it through the fabric of her dress. Bella leaned into him instinctively, and wondered how this would feel if it were skin against skin. Soon, she hoped. Soon. 

Then, inexplicably, Thorin put his hands chastely at her waist. Bella frowned, confused and a little worried.

“Thorin?” she questioned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You said Hobbits enjoy themselves freely,” said Thorin. He was trying to look serious, she could see, but Bella could also see the redness of his mouth and the darkness of his eyes. He felt as she did, she was certain – yet obviously something was holding him back. “Do you – have you –,” He sighed irritably, and Bella put her fingers to his lips.

“Yes,” she said. “I have had bed partners. None were serious – it was all fumbling tween romances, nothing that could have lasted.” She tried to get the words right, to reassure him, but his gaze was intense. There was something jealous in it, some dark possessiveness warning her that speaking of other lovers was probably not the best of ideas. She floundered a little. “Well,” she said at last, “there’s probably not much I haven’t done, one way or another. I’m not a virgin; you needn’t worry about that.”

Thorin made a choked kind of noise. His voice sounded strange and strangled. “Good,” he said. “Good, that’s…” He cleared his throat. He couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. “Were there many?” he asked, and Bella bit back a smile. 

“A few,” she said. “But it was all many years ago, dearest, and I loved none of them as I love you.” Thorin went still. His eyes were wide as he looked at her, and he hardly seemed to breathe. Bella bit her lip, wondering what she had said to draw such a reaction.

“Say it again,” he commanded her. Bella shook her head, confused. “Bella,” he breathed. “You had not said it before. Say it again?”

Then Bella understood, and she leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “Of course I love you.” She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. “My whole heart I give into your keeping,” she said softly, “and my body into your care.” She shouldn’t have said it – it was meaningless, after all, for they did not stand together under the sun in front of witnesses – but she couldn’t help it. This felt like more than a mere joining of bodies, more than sating of desire. 

“What does that mean?” Thorin asked her. His breath was hot on her face; his whiskers brushed against her skin. “It had the sound of a vow, beloved.”

“It is...part of our marriage vows,” Bella said reluctantly, afraid that he would find her foolish. Thorin inhaled sharply and kissed her, his mouth hard against hers, until Bella was melting against him. His hands seemed to be everywhere – at her breasts, at her ears, her waist, and at her bare knees. He pulled away to let her breathe, moving his mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking and scraping his teeth across a spot beneath her jaw, as if he intended to mark her. Straddling him as she was, she could feel his prick hardening beneath his clothes. Deliberately she rolled her hips, and felt Thorin’s groan against her skin.

Then one hand slid up her leg, fingers dancing over her thigh, and Bella knew the moment Thorin realised that she wore no smallclothes. 

“Bella,” he said. “Bella…beloved…”

“Well, it seemed pointless,” said Bella practically. “Since you were going to take them off me, anyway. I asked Dori to add them to the wash he was doing this evening.” Thorin closed his eyes. His shoulders shook. Bella leaned back and folded her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t seem hold it in; he laughed, a deep belly laugh that threatened to dislodge Bella. She slid off his lap before she could fall, and Thorin bent over, helpless with his laughter.

She delighted to see it. She had never seen Thorin like this, so free in his mirth, so _joyous_. His eyes sparkled and his laughter rang out in the room, and Bella loved him more in that moment than she had ever thought possible.

At last Thorin wiped tears from his eyes and held his hands out for her again.

“My beloved,” he said fondly, “you will surprise and confound until my last breath.” Bella took his hands and let him draw her close again. He lifted her easily into his lap once more, and she settled happily against him.

“I certainly hope so,” she agreed. “And now, my dearest, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take your shirt off.”

“Oh, indeed?” said Thorin. His eyes were warm and the smile lingered around his mouth. “Then I shall not hinder you, beloved.” He held his arms out to his sides, and Bella set to work on his buttons. 

She went slowly. She unfastened the top button and then pressed a kiss to the skin below. A second button, and a third, and she glanced up to find him watching her, his smile gone now, his gaze intent and focused. Bella pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his chest, and rubbed her face against his chest hair. There was not much of it, but he was far hairier than any Hobbit she’d been with, and there was a certain thrill at the exoticness of it. 

There were tattoos on his chest. She had seen some of them before, when Thorin had changed his shirt on the road, but now she had leisure to explore them with her fingers and her mouth. There were runes on his left side, and she traced them with her tongue. He inhaled, but said nothing. Bella smiled against his chest, and unfastened another button. Now she could pull the two sides of the shirt apart, and expose more of his chest. He had a ring piercing at his right nipple, and Bella was quite fascinated by it. She touched it, watching his reactions. A gentle tug, she discovered, made him give a low groan. Her mouth on the nipple and the ring, sucking and licking and then biting oh so gently, made him arch up into her touch.

“Good?” she checked, just to make sure, and Thorin nodded.

“Very,” he confirmed. Bella smiled up at him, and then she gave his other nipple similar attentions. Thorin shifted a little beneath her; his prick was hard, and if she moved forward just a little, she would be in the perfect position to grind herself against him.

She did not move forwards. Instead she unfastened the last two buttons, quickly now, and pushed it from his shoulders. Thorin leaned forward a little so she could pull the shirt out from behind him, and then she dropped it on the floor and took in the whole of his torso. 

There was not an ounce of fat on him, she observed. He was muscular and sturdy, so powerful that she felt quite small before him. Tattoos wound across his chest and over one shoulder, and she knew there were tattoos on his back, as well. There were scars, too, and she traced the line of one with her forefinger.

“How did this happen?” she asked quietly. Thorin caught her hand in his and shook his head.

“A skirmish with orcs, long ago,” he said. “None of my scars pain me, Bella. I carry them with honour.” Bella huffed and rolled her eyes, but she had grown used to the strange way Dwarves thought. 

“And this?” she asked, touching another scar, smaller and paler, just below his navel. Thorin’s breath hitched, and Bella looked up at him coyly and trailed her fingers up his chest, until her hand rested over his heart.

“That one is not so honourable,” Thorin admitted, sounding a little breathless. “An accident in the forge, when I was still an apprentice.” He put a hand at the small of her back and propelled her forwards so they could kiss, and Bella went willingly. She thought she could never grow tired of kissing Thorin, not as long as she lived. “Do I please you, mistress?” he asked when they parted.

“Very much,” Bella said. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again, a chaste peck. “Dearest Thorin,” she said, feeling her heart swell with love for him. It was as if all her repressed feelings were bursting out, the sparks of affection and desire contained for so long that they had quietly built into a blazing fire. “My love,” she whispered. “My heart.”

“Beloved,” he returned, equally as quiet. “Bella. My Bella.”

“Yours,” she agreed. She took his hand then, and brought it to the dress laces at her back. Thorin understood her, and caught at the laces to untie them, but then he paused.

“You are certain?” he asked, cautious and tender. “You must say, if you’re not. I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Bella.”

“I’m quite certain,” Bella said. “And you know I will tell you at once if I dislike anything.” He smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement, and she knew he was thinking of the many times that she had complained of things not being to her liking, particularly in the early days of the quest. “Now,” Bella went on, “undo my dress, Thorin.”

“I shall have a bossy wife,” Thorin observed, even as he undid the bow and began to loosen the laces by feel. Bella raised her eyebrows, but he was smiling widely, teasing her with words even as he teased her with his touch, his fingers sliding beneath and between the laces to flutter against skin. Then the laces were loose enough, and he lifted the dress up, over her head. Bella raised her arms and let him unclothe her, and then she sat nude on his lap and was suddenly very aware of her thinness.

“You are so beautiful,” Thorin murmured, but Bella folded her arms across her chest and looked away, bashful and insecure. “What is it, Bella?” he questioned. 

“I’m so thin,” she said, mumbling the words. “They’d call me starved, in the Shire.”

“You are thin,” Thorin agreed. “But you are still beautiful.” He gently drew her arms down, and he stroked his fingers across her collarbone. Then he lowered his hand, and traced the edges of the large bruise on her stomach. “Does it hurt?” he asked her, and she shook her head. 

”A little tender, that’s all,” she said. He hummed a little, and then took his breasts in his hands. They were so small, but Thorin seemed enraptured. He rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger, and Bella made a breathy sound. He glanced up at her for reassurance, and she nodded quickly. 

He gave his full attention to her breasts then, as intense as she had ever seen him. He pinched her nipple lightly, and brought his mouth to her other breast, kissing and licking the breast and areole, avoiding her nipple until Bella was squirming.

“Please, please,” she implored him, and then Thorin relented, sucking her nipple into his mouth, using tongue and teeth to work it to an almost painful hardness. Then he moved to her other nipple, and Bella moaned, clutching at his shoulders to keep herself upright and on his lap.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against the wetness left on her nipple by his attentions. “You were made for me, beloved.” Bella could not quite seem to speak; her breath came fast, her heartbeat pounded in her chest, and she was already so damp between her legs. 

Her throat tickled, but she swallowed hard and ignored it. She would not cough. She would not allow herself to cough, not when Thorin looked at her so, not when he was touching her – 

“Ah,” she moaned, her hips bucking forward as Thorin pinched the tip of her ear and at the same time swirled his tongue around her nipple. She scratched her nails down his chest, and was rewarded when his own hips jerked, bringing his clothed prick against her wet folds. It sent ripples of pleasure through her, and she deliberately rolled her hips, creating delicious friction that made her moan again.

“Bella,” Thorin groaned. “Beloved, this will be over too quickly if you do that.” He grasped her hips firmly, to still her, and Bella made a whining sound.

It was enough to produce the cough she had been trying to avoid. Bella covered her hand with her mouth and shut her eyes tight as she coughed, not wanting to see Thorin’s expression. But it was a gentler cough than before, and passed quickly and without causing her chest to ache. She opened her eyes again and fixed Thorin with a fierce glare.

“Not one word,” she warned him. “Not one single word, Thorin Oakenshield.” 

Thorin sighed and shook his head. “Bella,” he began, but Bella put her fingers on his lips to silence him.

“Thorin,” she said softly, “I am well enough. I promise. Please, dearest. We won’t have a chance until…we may be going to our deaths, when we go tomorrow.” Thorin inhaled sharply and tried to speak, but Bella hurried on. “I want to spend tonight with you,” she said. “I’ve wanted…” She faltered and looked down, at his hands still at her waist. His hands were tanned, darker than her pale skin, and so strong and large and capable. Bella felt thin and fragile in his arms, but she knew she was stronger than her body showed. She had grown strong, these past few months.

Thorin kissed her fingers, and she glanced up and saw deep affection in his face. 

“We will be gentle,” he said, and she could tell he would not be swayed from that. She nodded; she wasn’t up to anything more, really, and she was sensible enough not to push herself too far. 

“Fine,” she agreed. “Gentle. Just – _please_ , Thorin, touch me?” He laughed a little and then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he trailed his fingers across her hip, down through the dark curls that covered her mound, and he dropped one finger down between her outer lips. Bella bit her lip and quivered, trying not to move. Her arousal had dimmed slightly with the interruption, but Thorin’s touch sent sparks shooting through her.

“So wet, beloved,” Thorin murmured. He stroked down, circling her opening, and then up again to her pearl, the swollen nub of nerve endings. He held his finger there, teasing her, and when Bella tried to press against him, to get friction, he moved with her and denied it.

“Tease,” she huffed. He was smirking, but then he moved his finger lower again, until the pad of it rested against her opening, just enough to make her muscles contract involuntarily. “ _Thorin_ ,” Bella moaned, “what –,”

“I wanted to see if you could peak from touching your ears,” Thorin said musingly. He lifted his other hand from her waist, tweaking her nipple almost idly as he went back to her ear and stroked his fingers up to the tip. Bella whimpered; she couldn’t help it. His touches were so light, so _teasing_ , and it had been so _long_ since any hands other than her own had touched her. And this was Thorin, who she had admired since she had first met, who she had grown to love, and who loved her in return. Every touch was an agony. It would not take much to bring her to a peak, she knew.

“Perhaps not _just_ my ears,” she panted, and Thorin just smirked at her, and slowly slid his finger inside her. Bella cried out and pushed herself down on him, until his finger was as deep within her as it could be. Then he pressed his thumb against her throbbing pearl and, at the same time, caressed her ear. 

“Like this, then,” he said. His voice was rough; his eyes were dark as he watched her. He curled his finger within her. Bella rocked against him, arched her back as he circled his thumb around her pearl and then rubbed at the slick hood of it. 

“Yes,” Bella said breathlessly. “Yes, yes, like this –,” Thorin withdrew his finger and then thrust it in again and once more stroked his thumb down her pearl. Her world narrowed to these small touches, his hands at her ear and her sex, his thumb giving delicious pressure to her pearl, his finger inside her.

“Bella,” Thorin murmured. “You look so close, beloved.” He left her ear for a moment, his hand going back to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Bella mewled and pressed into him, pleasure building with every stroke, every thrust. “Come for me, Bella,” he entreated. “Let me see you.” Then he flicked her pearl with his nail, just gently, but enough to tumble Bella over the edge as hot pleasure raced through her veins. Her limbs trembled; her muscles spasmed. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but shake as he worked her until at last she gasped his name and melted, boneless, against him.

Thorin held her until her trembling had subsided and she had caught her breath, cradling her in his arms and lap. Bella’s head rested on his shoulder; she could feel his nipple ring pressing above her breast. His chest hair was remarkably soft. His scent was comforting, somehow, and Bella inhaled deeply and smiled. Thorin stroked a hand down her back, fingers trailing gently across the bones of her spine. 

“My beloved Bella,” he said, his voice soft. “You are glorious, my Bella.” Bella hummed contentedly. She was languid, as she always was after such a climax, but that would pass in a few minutes, and then – oh yes, then. Thorin had not peaked yet, after all. But for now she enjoyed the warmth of him, the closeness of his embrace. “I have never been so blessed in all my life.” His hand paused at the swell of her bottom, and Bella kissed the closest bit of skin she could reach. “You are so…” Thorin trailed off, apparently lost for words, and Bella hummed again, inquiringly this time. But Thorin said nothing for a while, and Bella didn’t push him.

“You were made for me, Bella,” he said after a moment. He sounded utterly sure, and his certainty made her want to believe him, although of course such a notion was absurd. “The way you respond to me,” Thorin went on, “like no other has ever –,”

“Let’s not ruin things with talking about others,” Bella said hastily, and had to laugh at his chagrin. “You were doing so wonderfully, my love,” she cooed. “Such lovely compliments.” Thorin smiled then, and Bella leaned forward a little to kiss him. She could still feel his hard prick beneath his trousers, so deliciously close to her sex. She was still wet, her nipples still hard, and her languor was fading as arousal began to slowly build once more. 

Thorin kissed her as if he sought to devour her, tasting every part of her mouth, tugging at her lower lip with his teeth, swallowing the small sounds she made. Bella grasped hold of a braid and put her other hand down between them, over his prick, exerting just enough pressure to make him feel it. Thorin groaned into her mouth, and kissed away her grin, leaving her breathless and dizzy and aching for him. 

Then in one quick, easy motion, Thorin stood up. His hands were at her bottom, holding her up, and Bella wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. 

“Thorin, what –,” she tried to ask, but Thorin silenced her with another kiss, hard and bruising, and then he carried her across the room and laid her gently in the bed. He stood above her, gazing down at her, and she knew that hungry expression on his face. It was a look that made her feel utterly desired; as if he could never find something that he wanted so much as he wanted her. It made her feel as bold and courageous as any Took, and she stretched her arms above her head and spread her legs a little, displaying herself for him in a way that, in daylight, might make her blush.

Still, Thorin seemed to appreciate it. He inhaled sharply, and unbuckled his belt with clumsy haste. Bella hid her smile, and in a moment his belt was discarded on the floor and Thorin sat on the bed to remove his boots.

“You Dwarves and your boots,” Bella said lazily, teasing him. “You’re as bad as the Big Folk.”

“We’re not all blessed with such feet, beloved,” Thorin replied, glancing at her with a warm smile. He tugged off one boot and went to work on the other. Bella laughed a little, and waited patiently for him. In a few moments he was bare-footed, and then he rose to remove his trousers and smallclothes. Bella propped herself up on her elbows and watched him, and then stared a little. She had not seen Thorin naked before, although she could admit to some imaginings, late at night in her bedroll when nobody could see her blushes. 

His legs were as muscular as his arms, and similarly hairy. A trail of hair went down from his navel, down to a thatch of dark hair at his prick, which was hard and erect. Bella’s sex throbbed; he was larger than the Hobbit men she’d lain with, although she should have expected that really, Dwarves being larger than Hobbits, as a rule. He stood proudly, not quite showing off but displaying himself, as she displayed herself on the bed.

“Do I please you, beloved?” he asked, as he had asked earlier when she had removed his shirt. His voice was rough and sent a delicious hum of arousal through her body.

“Very much,” she said. “But you would please me more if you were closer, dearest.” Thorin laughed, but he joined her on the bed. Bella shifted over to give him more room, and then they lay on their sides, facing each other. Thorin’s hand found her waist, and it felt natural. She wriggled closer to him, idly scratching her nails against his chest. 

“Are you sure, Bella?” he asked her once more, and Bella rolled her eyes at him. Thorin kissed the tip of her nose. “I meant what I said,” he told her. “Nothing you are uncomfortable with.”

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Bella said seriously, “if you hesitate more I shall be very cross with you. Yes, I am quite sure.” His grin was boyish and delighted, and in one effortless move Thorin rolled her onto her back. He braced himself with his arms, but she could feel him, it seemed, along every inch of her. His prick pressed insistently into her belly. He dipped his head to kiss her, but she turned her face away as a thought occurred to her. 

“Bella?” he questioned, lifting himself up a little so he could see her better.

“I am sure except for one thing,” she said, and he tilted his head and watched her expectantly. “I won’t risk children,” she told him. “Not until we are married.” It had been a long time since Bella had thought about children, a long time since she’d needed to worry about an accidental pregnancy. It wasn’t unheard of in the Shire, of course, for a lass to become pregnant before a marriage – sometimes even before a courting was announced, although in such cases it was generally accepted that a courting would follow quickly, and a marriage soon after. 

It wasn’t that she was opposed to the idea, but she wouldn’t risk it, not with the Mountain so close and Smaug still there, as far as anyone knew. Later, perhaps, if Thorin wanted children…

But not now.

“As you say,” Thorin agreed. There was something in his voice and his expression that she couldn’t name. He wasn’t upset about it, she didn’t think – perhaps it was simply that he’d not thought about the possibility. He leaned down and rubbed his nose against hers, and then he kissed her. Bella hummed happily into his mouth and arched her hips into his. She wanted him, oh how she wanted him. Her Thorin. He was her Thorin now, and she was his Bella, and she believed it wholeheartedly now. He ground himself down against her, and Bella moaned into his mouth.

“Such lovely noises you make,” Thorin murmured, as he moved lower, his beard scraping deliciously against her throat as he went to her breasts. He seemed unable to resist touching them, small as they were. He sucked at one nipple, and rolled the other between his fingers, giving his whole focus over to her breasts. He was relentless, and Bella moaned and hummed and cried out under his touch.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, Thorin.”

“Please what?” he returned, smirking against her breast, his whiskers tickling the sensitive skin. Bella bit back a giggle, but Thorin saw it, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Are you ticklish, Bella?” he asked, and Bella shook her head quickly. The mischief in Thorin’s expression made him look strikingly like his younger nephew, and Bella found a braid and tugged it sharply.

“If you tickle me, I’ll laugh,” she pointed out. “And if I laugh, I’ll likely cough again.”

Thorin paused, considering, and then he nodded. “You make a fair point,” he agreed. “I’ll remember it for another time.” He took his hand from her breast to her sex, a finger slipping easily inside her. Bella sucked in a breath, her hips bucking involuntarily into his touch. “Just as another time,” Thorin went on, his voice darkening a shade, “I will spread your legs and drink you in, beloved.” He added a second finger, and Bella clutched at his shoulder.

“Who – who said you can’t do that now?” she asked, barely able to get the words out. His thumb was at her pearl, gentle fluttering touches that weren’t what she wanted. His two fingers inside her were good – oh, that was good, the way he stretched her a little – but she wanted more, and she knew he must be just as eager as she.

“I do,” said Thorin. “I am too impatient to be within you, beloved.” He kissed a trail up her breast, her throat, back to her mouth. Bella kissed him eagerly, and tangled a hand in his hair so she could scratch at his scalp the way she had learned he liked. He stroked his thumb down her pearl; Bella’s skin felt too tight, her breathing too shallow. His touch sent sparks through her veins.

“Too close,” she muttered into his mouth. “Please – Thorin –,”

“Bella,” he murmured, almost reverently. “I hardly need touch you.” But he took his fingers from her. Bella couldn’t help a whine at that, but a moment’s respite pulled her back from the edge. Then she caught sight of a slight smugness in his expression, so she reached between them and tugged at his nipple ring. Thorin hissed through his teeth; between them, pressed against her hip, she felt his prick jerk. 

“I thought you were impatient,” she said, knowing it would provoke him. Thorin growled, and _shifted_ , and suddenly his prick was at her sex, sliding against her – not into her, not where she wanted it, but still the feel of it was exquisite. Thorin rolled his hips into hers, pressing against her pearl, and Bella bit her lip to keep back a whimper. “Tease,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Am I?” Thorin’s eyes seemed almost black; his chest heaved. Bella thought she could look at him like this forever, and tried to commit the sight to memory. But then Thorin found her hand and drew it down between them, and she wrapped her hand around his prick and stroked up to the head of it and then down to the root. Thorin grunted, and his thrust seemed involuntary. “Beloved,” he said roughly. “Guide me into you.”

Bella nodded, wide-eyed. She bent one knee slightly, to offer him a better angle, and Thorin followed her lead as she brought the head of his prick to her entrance. Then he lowered himself slowly – oh so slowly, she wanted more than this careful slide into her, but of course he was right, they must be gentle until she was fully well – and at last he was seated within her. 

It seemed to Bella as if there was a moment of stillness then, of quiet. She was stretched around him, but not painfully. He was breathing harshly, as if struggling to control himself. They looked at each other, and Bella thought he felt it too. The whole world seemed to have shrunk, and they were all that was left in it. 

He dipped his head, as if he could hear her wish to kiss him, and the kiss they shared was soft and tender, even though she could feel him shaking, even though her muscles quivered with the effort of not thrusting up against him. Then – and she couldn’t help it, of course she couldn’t – her inner muscles tightened around his prick, and Thorin moaned into her mouth.

“Bella,” he muttered. Her name sounded like an oath, almost, and Bella clenched around him again, deliberately this time. 

“I won’t break,” she said. Thorin kissed her again, and then he pulled himself out of her until only the head of his prick was still inside. 

“No,” he agreed. “But I might.” He sank into her again, faster this time, and harder, his balls slapping against her skin. Bella’s cry was almost a laugh.

“N-never,” she gasped. “You would never – _Thorin_!” His hand had found her pearl again, clever fingers rubbing and circling and tweaking, and making her lose all her words. He set a steady rhythm, thrusting into her and working her pearl with his thumb – gentle, as he’d said earlier, and she could see a tension in his face that told her how tightly he held to his control. He drew himself out slowly, and thrust in fast, and Bella gave a soft cry each time he filled her. Thorin found her breast with his mouth, and swirled his tongue around her nipple. Bella shuddered and clutched at his hair, not sure whether she sought to keep him at her breast or not – every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his thumb at her pearl, threatened to tip her over the edge, and she wanted him to peak too.

“ _Please_ ,” she begged, though she didn’t know quite what she wanted.

“Yes,” Thorin said raggedly. He was losing his rhythm, his hips stuttering. He lifted his head and kissed her, swallowing the sounds she couldn’t help making. Then he did _something_ with his thumb against her pearl, something that made Bella arch up into him with a cry. White heat exploded behind her eyes. Her whole body seemed to tighten, and Thorin muttered a curse and pulled himself from her. A moment later he spilled his seed across her belly.

Bella was trembling; Thorin was too, she could feel. He was half-collapsed over her, his face hidden against her shoulder. Bella wanted to stroke his hair. Her hand was still tangled in it, a braid wrapped around her wrist, but she couldn’t seem to move. All she could do was lie beneath him, enjoy the weight of him on her, and try to catch her breath.

After a few moments Thorin took a deep breath and let it out, and then he rolled off her, and her hand slid from his hair. Bella was still trembling – or perhaps it was shivering, she thought absently. The fire had burned low in the grate, and sweat was cooling fast on her skin. Thorin was warm beside her, his shoulder touching hers, his side pressed against hers, but still Bella shivered.

“Beloved,” Thorin murmured. He reached across her for the blanket, and pulled it across them both. Then he lay on his side, his arm slung across her stomach, his hand resting on her hip. The light was so dim now that she couldn’t make out his expression; she lifted a hand and explored his face with her fingers. He was smiling, she was happy to discover. He turned into her touch and kissed her fingertips. “Warmer?” he asked her then, and Bella nodded. “Good.” He paused, and then asked another question, more tentatively. “And you’re contented?” he wanted to know.

“Yes, my dearest,” Bella said softly. “I am more than contented.” So much had changed in just two nights, and Bella was sure there would be difficulties to be overcome, stumbling blocks in their path as they moved forwards together – and that was assuming they could defeat the dragon, of course, because their betrothal might very well end in fire – but for now she was happy. She wasn’t sure she could remember ever being so happy. 

Although she could remember being more clean. Thorin’s seed was cooling and drying on her stomach, and she had no desire to sleep with it still on her skin.

“I’m very happy,” she said, “but I must wash.” She tried to lift the blanket, but Thorin’s arm was like iron and she couldn’t move. Bella raised an eyebrow at him, and he kissed her forehead.

“Let me,” he said. “Stay in bed, beloved.” He managed to slide out from under the blanket without exposing her to the cool air, and Bella watched as he went to the wash stand and wetted two cloths. His nakedness seemed not to bother him, but Bella could feel a blush heating her cheeks when he caught her looking at him. He brought a candle closer, setting it on the stool beside the bed. He was smirking a little, she saw now, and she shook her head at him, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

“You blush,” he observed, sitting on the bed. He reached out and brushed a finger across her cheek. “You can be so full of contradictions, my Bella.” Bella caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I’m glad I am pleasing to you,” Thorin went on. “I know Hobbit men are very different.”

“Dwarf women are very different,” Bella returned. “I lack a beard, for one thing. Perhaps it’s me that should be glad.” But she wasn’t truly worried about it – Thorin clearly wanted her, beard or not, and she’d certainly shown him how much she desired him. She’d been attracted to him ever since that first moment, when Gandalf had opened her door and revealed him to her.

“We’ll both be glad,” Thorin said, a smile warming his voice. “I’ll have to move the blanket to clean you, beloved,” he added. Bella sighed, gritted her teeth, and flung the blanket aside. 

“How are you not cold?” she complained as he began to clean her. The soaked cloth was cool, but Thorin was quick and efficient, wiping away his seed from her stomach and then using the second cloth to gently clean between her legs.

“You’re too thin,” he answered as he worked. “It’s not so cold here, Bella, truly. And you’re tired.” He pursed his lips and didn’t glance up at her face. But Bella knew what he was thinking, and she lifted a hand and lazily swatted at his arm.

“None of that,” she ordered. “I have no regrets about this night, Thorin. All I need now is for you to come back into bed and keep me warm.” Thorin huffed a laugh, but he bowed his head and said nothing further, so she knew he would try not to worry about her. In another moment she was clean, and Thorin reached across her again to pull the blanket back over her. Bella snuggled down into it, glad of the warmth and eager for Thorin to rejoin her. He took the cloths back to the wash stand, and then he went to the fire and raked the ashes through before putting another log in the grate.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Bella suddenly, half-sitting up in the bed. “I have something for you. On the mantelpiece.”

“Something for me?” Thorin repeated quizzically. “What –,” He fell silent, and Bella knew he had found the two beads that she had carefully put at the back of the mantelpiece, where they could not possibly fall and be lost. Nori had done well by her; he had found her two matching beads, wrought in copper with a design of interlocking squares engraved upon them. The pattern reminded Bella, a little, of the patterns on Thorin’s lost surcoat. The beads were Dwarven make, Nori had assured her, although perhaps the work of a journeyman, not a master craftsman.

Thorin was silent. It unnerved her, and she began to babble.

“I asked Nori to find some for me,” she said, twisting her hands together. “I know it’s not the same as a bead you’ve made – but anyway, I wouldn’t be able to make a bead to save my life, so it’s not as if I’d ever be able to give you one that I’d made, so I thought…well, it was probably a silly idea.” She looked pleadingly at him, but he was still facing away from her, a hand on the mantelpiece. He said nothing, and Bella was irritated by how worried she was. If she’d erred, she wished he’d just say so. This silence was unkind, and it stirred her doubts. “I thought they might serve, for now,” she added, more quietly. “Was I wrong, Thorin?”

“No,” said Thorin. His voice was gruff, almost hoarse. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “No, you were not wrong.” He turned, holding the beads in his hand, and came back to the bed. Bella lay down again as Thorin slid under the blanket beside her, and then he kissed her tenderly. She was soothed by it, and by the way he rubbed his nose against hers, when the kiss ended. “I do not deserve you, Bella Baggins,” Thorin murmured. “I have never done anything to deserve you.”

“I don’t think it’s a question of what you deserve,” Bella said slowly, frowning a little. “If we all got what we deserved, the world would be a very different place, don’t you think?” Thorin hummed, but she couldn’t quite tell whether he was agreeing with her or not. Still, he said nothing more on the subject. Instead he offered her the beads.

“Hold them for me?” he asked. “While I braid your hair.” She took the beads, warm from his hand, and Thorin combed his fingers through her hair and separated out a portion. “A courting braid goes behind your left ear,” he said, as he began to braid. Bella closed her eyes with a deep sigh; there was something oddly soothing about this, about Thorin braiding her hair while they lay in bed together. Or perhaps it was his voice, low and gentle – she had always loved his voice. “Behind your ear, to show your chosen partner is precious to you, and on the left side because your heart is on the left.”

“How very romantic you Dwarves are,” Bella murmured. “You’d never know it. But I suppose these are things you shouldn’t really be telling me.” She’d learned quickly that there were many things that she, who was not a Dwarf, would not be told. Their language was secret, their culture was secret – even their women were secrets, and it had taken a month for Fili and Kili to be comfortable sharing so much as their mother’s name with her. It didn’t bother her now as much as it had in the early days of the journey. She had learned a little through observation, and she trusted that she could continue to muddle along. Thorin would keep her from too many blunders, she thought, and so would Balin. 

_If_ they survived the dragon, of course. If they didn’t, then none of it would matter.

“You will be the wife of a Dwarf, and a queen of Dwarves,” Thorin said mildly. “I cannot think that anyone would question my right to tell you these things.” She opened her eyes at that, and looked at him. He was concentrating on the braid, his eyebrows drawn together a little. Bella wanted to kiss him again, but she wouldn’t interrupt him. “The braid itself,” Thorin continued, “need not be complicated. It is the placement of it that matters. And, of course, the bead.”

“Since I can’t do more than a simple braid, that’s just as well,” Bella said. She yawned then, covering her mouth with a hand, and she felt Thorin’s chuckle thrumming in his chest. She waved her hand at him idly, a silent admonition that he should not comment. She was tired, of course, and beginning to grow sleepy, but sleep would come soon enough. She was enjoying this moment too much to allow sleep to interfere with it.

Besides, she was beginning to feel a little peckish. She wondered if Thorin might be amenable to fetching her some food, once the beads were in place. 

“There,” said Thorin. Bella gave him a bead, and he carefully finished the braid. He was silent for a moment, and then he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “My bead in your hair, beloved,” he murmured. Bella felt her braid; it was a little stiff, as she’d expect of a braid in her tight curls. Still, it felt surprisingly good, to bear a braid and bead that Thorin had given her. She smiled, pleased, and Thorin kissed her again, properly this time.

“Your turn,” Bella said when they parted, and she gave him the second bead to hold while she worked. Thorin rolled onto his back so that she could work more easily, and Bella carefully separated a portion of his hair, behind his left ear as he had told her. He already wore a braid in front of his ear, of course – and one before his right ear, too. “What do these braids mean?” she asked, as she began a simple three-strand braid. “Fili has them too, doesn’t he?”

“They mark us as heirs to Durin’s line,” Thorin said. He watched her as she worked, his eyes half-lidded. He was tired too, she noted, but relaxed with it, as if he knew he needed rest and would allow himself to sleep well tonight. “Kili ought to wear them too, but…” He shrugged one shoulder eloquently.

“The thought of Kili being heir to anything is rather terrifying,” Bella laughed. “Fili is much more level-headed.”

“Kili is…he is young,” muttered Thorin. “Fili is older – old enough to know his duty.”

“Or perhaps his duty has made him older,” Bella suggested gently, because she knew how few years separated the brothers. Thorin’s mouth twisted into a frown, but he didn’t deny it. Bella wondered what Thorin had been like, when he was Kili’s age. But no – by then, Erebor had fallen, and Thorin had been a wandering prince, shouldering responsibilities that he should never have had to bear. But perhaps Thorin had never been young in the way Kili was. Perhaps Thorin had been like Fili, who knew his future and his place and strived to live up to the expectations of those around him.

Well, regardless of what else might be expected of her as Erebor’s queen – and what a thought that was! – Bella knew that she would work to give Thorin time to be merely Thorin, not a king and a leader of Dwarves. Who had last looked upon him as anything else? She doubted that anyone had in many years. And Fili too deserved to be seen as more than Thorin’s heir. He was young yet, no matter what Thorin said.

“Finished,” she said, letting the subject drop. “Bead, please.” Thorin gave it to her, and she fastened it into the braid. “There.” She let the braid fall back into the mass of his hair, oddly proud at seeing it. Behind his ear, he’d said, to show she was precious to him. Her heart felt too full, and suddenly there was a lump in her throat and tears smarting at her eyes.

“Bella?” Thorin drew her back into his arms, until she rested against him with her head on his chest. “What is it, beloved?” he asked her gently. “Have I upset you?”

“I’m not upset,” Bella said. Her voice was thick, and she swallowed hard. “I’m happy. I am. I suppose I just…still wonder how all this has happened. Three days ago I thought you barely tolerated me. I don’t doubt you – but I feel so _happy_ , and I’m so afraid that it’s all a dream and I shall wake up and find that you still dislike me.” She closed her eyes and felt a single tear roll down her cheek. “Tell me again, Thorin?” she asked, trying to keep from sounding as though she were begging.

Thorin sighed, and began to stroke her hair. “I love you,” he told her. “I love you, Bella, and I shall never stop loving you. You will wake in the morning and I will be here. I cannot change my past behaviour, beloved, but I will atone for it somehow. I have acted shamefully towards you, and I don’t blame you for being afraid.” Bella pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything. She didn’t want his atonement, she just wanted…oh, she didn’t know what she wanted, really. She wanted to stay here in Thorin’s arms, and pretend that there was no dragon, no kingdom to be reclaimed, no dangers to face.

Foolish girl, she told herself crossly.

“You have my bead in your hair,” Thorin said after a moment. “I would not give you a courtship braid if I did not love you, Bella.”

Bella took a breath and released it. “Yes,” she said. “I know.” She traced the runes on his chest, almost idly. “I love you, too,” she added, almost an afterthought. Thorin caught her hand in his and lifted it so he could kiss her palm.

“I knew I loved you when we were at Beorn’s home,” he told her then. “I think I began to love you when you came running after us, waving your contract in the air, but I did not admit it to myself then.” 

“Then what changed?” Bella asked him. “What happened at Beorn’s house, to make you admit it?” She couldn’t remember anything special happening, nothing that might cause such insight on Thorin’s part. Things had changed after the eagles had taken them to the Carrock, of course – she would never forget his face then, the way he had looked at her – but between the Carrock and Beorn’s house, Thorin had paid her no more attention than any other member of the Company.

“He insisted on carrying you around as if – he had no right to touch you so familiarly,” he growled. “And that name he had for you – it was insufferable.”

Bella began to smile. “You were jealous,” she said. Thorin said nothing, and Bella couldn’t help giggling – until air caught in her throat and made her cough again. Thorin held her close while she coughed, but again Bella recovered quickly. In two or three days’ time, she was sure, she would hardly be coughing at all. “You were jealous,” she said, when she could take a proper breath. “Weren’t you, dearest?”

“I…realised that I did not like it,” said Thorin. He sounded irritated with himself, and Bella reached up to kiss his scowl away. “I didn’t want anyone else to…” He sighed, and shook his head. “I had deceived myself for many weeks,” he muttered. “I was harsh, that night with the stone giants when you slipped, because I was afraid for you, and I thought myself weak for it. I _hoped_ you had retreated to the safety of Rivendell, when we were through the Misty Mountains, because the alternative was too terrible to consider.” He paused for a moment. Bella waited, silent and patient. “I realised, at Beorn’s, that I wanted to be the one to hold you close,” he said slowly. “He took you around his gardens, and you looked so happy. I wanted to be the one to make you happy.”

“Thorin,” said Bella softly. “Dearest.” She kissed him again, and he held her close, kissing her tenderly, his hands so gentle where he touched her. 

“I do not know if we will succeed,” Thorin admitted at last, when Bella was resting on him once more. “I would wish you a hundred miles away, and safe, but I know you would not go.”

“No, indeed,” Bella said promptly. “Not before this, and certainly not now. Where you go, I go.”

“Into the jaws of death,” he muttered. Bella chose not to comment on that. She knew very well the dangers ahead of them, and they were betrothed, now. She would not abandon him. “No matter what happens,” Thorin went on, “I am glad we have shared this, beloved.”

“Me too,” Bella said, the words almost swallowed in a yawn. Thorin began to say something, but Bella’s stomach grumbled audibly, and he huffed a laugh.

“My Hobbit,” he said, affection colouring his voice. “Will you eat, before you sleep?” Bella hesitated; she was snug and warm here, and she didn’t feel quite comfortable asking Thorin to go down to the kitchen for her. “I left a tray outside the door,” Thorin added, and Bella smiled and rolled off him.

“Very well then,” she said. “Since you went to the trouble, I may as well eat.” Thorin laughed, and rose from the bed. He pulled on his smallclothes before going to the door, and Bella hurriedly pulled the blanket up to her neck, just in case anyone happened to be in the landing beyond. But the landing was dark and silent. The other Dwarves, if they were still awake, were either in their own rooms or downstairs.

Bella yawned again as Thorin returned to her bearing the tray of food. He put it on the stool for a moment, then rearranged the pillows on the bed so that Bella could prop herself up against them.

“Thank you,” she said, as Thorin put the tray in her lap. “You’re all trying to feed me up,” she added, teasing him. It was a similar meal to the one he’d brought her last night – bread and cheese, but also a pastry of some sort, with dried fruit in it.

“You told me once that Hobbits usually eat seven meals a day,” Thorin returned, joining her on the bed and stealing a chunk of cheese from the tray. “Besides, what was it you said? Your heart into my keeping, and your body into my care?” Bella felt her cheeks heat; she cleared her throat, and coughed, and Thorin made an amused sound. “What kind of husband would I be, if I let my wife go hungry?” he asked, and then seemed to realise what he had said. He looked away from her, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face. 

Bella took a piece of cheese and ate it, and then she reached out and entwined her fingers with his.

“I am not yet your wife,” she said. “Perhaps I never will be, if we cannot defeat Smaug. But I will marry you, Thorin, if we survive, and you needn’t feel embarrassed for calling me your wife now.” He took a deep breath; she watched him, and squeezed his hand gently. “Thorin, dearest,” she murmured. “Look at me.” It took a moment, but he obeyed her, looking at her with that direct, piercing gaze that had always so unnerved her. She refused to be unnerved now. “Such care you have shown me, my love,” she said. “What more could I ask?”

He clutched her hand and nodded, his embarrassment fading.

”And I can ask for no more than you, beloved,” he said. “Whatever we face in Erebor, we face it together.”

“Indeed,” said Bella briskly. “And now, it’s far too late for such serious talk. Let me eat, and you can go on waxing poetical about how you fell in love with me.”

Thorin was startled into a laugh, and Bella smiled at him, at the way he lounged on the bed and the way he looked at her, so contented and so loving. 

Whatever happened in the Lonely Mountain, she thought, nothing could change how happy she was now. Nothing could change the fact that Thorin loved her, and she loved him, and they were happy together, even though they might only have these stolen hours. If they went to their doom, at least they had had this time together, and Bella would die as Thorin’s chosen partner.

Not that she intended to die, of course, nor to let anyone else die. Somehow, Bella was determined, they would pull through this final obstacle, as they had come through all the others so far along their journey. Smaug must have some weakness, and she would find it, with her wondrous ring of invisibility. Somehow she would find it, and Smaug would be defeated.

And then Thorin would be King Under the Mountain, and Erebor reclaimed for the Dwarves. 

Bella would entertain no other endings, not now. In the morning, perhaps, she would allow realism back in. But for tonight, she was content and loved and sated, and she would not think of a fiery conclusion to their quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the coda left, now, which will be posted tomorrow evening.


	5. Coda

“I have something to give you.”

“There is not a thing in Middle-earth that you could give me that would change my mind,” said Bella wearily. She would not look at him; she gazed out across the carnage that still littered the ground before Erebor’s gates. The bodies, of course, had been removed – the battle had taken place nearly ten days before, after all. They had had to burn the bodies. There had not been the time, let alone the space, to bury the Men or to inter the Dwarves into stone. 

What the Elves did with their dead, Bella didn’t know. Perhaps once she would have been interested, because no matter what else she had become, she was a scholar still. Now she did not care to know, even if she had dared to ask any of the Elves what had become of their dead brethren. Legolas might have told her, perhaps – he had taken to her, and showed a kindness, after she had been driven from the Mountain, that she had not expected. It had been Legolas who found her a pallet, and placed it in his own tent. He had given her a cloak and found a healer for her, and he had watched over her that night as she cried for what she had lost.

Just yesterday, Legolas had promised a safe escort through Mirkwood, whenever she chose to leave Erebor. She would have Gandalf, of course, but even so she would welcome the help through Mirkwood.

“I do not seek to change your mind.” Thorin sounded humble, but Bella had no more strength left in her, no matter how humble he might be. She had forgiven him for his actions and his cruel words, but she could not forget, and she could not stay here, no matter what he said, no matter how many gifts he tried to give her. She had never been afraid of him before they had entered the Mountain. She wasn’t sure, now, whether she would ever lose her fear.

She was not a Took after all. She was a Baggins, and this Baggins had had enough of adventures.

Bella shook her head. Hot tears stung at her eyes, a sharp contrast to the cold wind that whipped at her cheeks. Her hair, had she enough left, would have been blowing and tangling in such a strong breeze. But her curls were closely cropped around her head, and there was a patch above her forehead that had been shaved entirely, to allow the healers to clean and dress the wound she’d received there. It was bandaged, now. Bella had not seen herself in a mirror, but she could imagine how she looked. Certainly the Dwarves around her gave her pitying looks, and she’d seen them gesture at her head and whisper to each other.

She had lost her hair, although she had not cut it. To Dwarves, that was a sign that she had lost her honour. A symbol of the treachery she had committed against Thorin, although only the Company and Dain knew about what she had done. Thorin had lifted the banishment almost as soon as he had woken after the battle, and he’d sent for her and begged her forgiveness. Bella had given it, of course, because she knew it had been the madness, but she could not forget.

There was a necklace of bruises around her throat, vivid in purples and blues, fading to greens and yellows around the edges. The bruises showed where he had put his fingers, when he’d grasped her by the throat and nearly throttled her. 

She had forgiven him for it. But she would not stay here. All his promises were worthless, and her happy memories of their time in Lake-town had turned bitter. So she would leave. Gandalf would escort her back to the Shire, and she would find a way to continue her life, away from Dwarves and gold and battles, away from orcs, away from Thorin. 

She would be a Hobbit again. She would tend her garden and cook splendid meals, and pay calls on her acquaintances, and look after her less-fortunate neighbours. She would be a lonely old spinster again, and she would somehow forget everything that had happened. She would forget the living, and forget the dead, and perhaps – _perhaps_ one day she might be able to forgive herself for being so foolish.

“Bella,” said Thorin, desperation making his voice catch a little. She turned to him out of habit, because it was habit still to be concerned for him. He did not wear his crown, she saw, although a ceremony had been performed two days ago, as soon as Fili had been declared fit enough to attend it. Thorin had refused to be crowned without his heir to stand beside him. Bella had been there, when he and Dain had begun to argue about it, but she had left quickly, Thorin’s raised, angry voice too much for her to bear. He still had his courting braid, though – tucked behind his left ear. Not the one she had put in, she was sure, because she knew he braided his hair anew every day, to keep it tidy. But a courting braid nonetheless, with the bead that she had given him.

He stood a safe distance from her, and he held in his hands a bouquet of flowers.

Bella stared, and then she laughed. She couldn’t help it, but there was no mirth in her laughter. It was a bitter, despairing sound, and she flinched away from it – and flinched away from Thorin, turning back to face outwards, her hands gripping the stone balustrade that kept her from tumbling over the edge. Her fingers were white. The tears that stung her eyes began to fall in slow, hot trails down her cheeks. She didn’t want Thorin to see how she felt. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t…

She couldn’t risk her heart again.

“If you seek to make amends, Thorin, I suggest you learn a little flower lore first,” she said. 

“I picked what I could find,” Thorin told her. His voice didn’t come closer; he was keeping his distance from her. She was glad of it. Once or twice he had come close to her, in the week since he had fully regained consciousness, and Bella had recoiled from him, feeling his hands tight on her shoulders and his fingers around her throat. He seemed to have learned how far he must be from her, for her to feel safe. He had not come too close in several days – and, before now, he had not approached her when she was alone.

Not that she was alone much. Bofur had become her shadow, following her everywhere, a guard and a companion both. She rather suspected he was sleeping outside her room at night, as well, although she couldn’t be sure.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. She doubted Thorin had had much of a choice, on a mountain and at this time of year, but even so he could hardly have chosen worse. Lavender flowers, already fading. Some poor marigolds, brightly coloured but sickly-looking. Cyclamen buds, too, and strands of ivy and fern leaves. The greenery, at least, spoke of the message that Thorin no doubt wished to convey. But the flowers only hurt her.

“Teach me,” Thorin said, as the silence dragged on and Bella still could not find anything to say. “What should I have picked?”

“That depends on what you want to say,” said Bella. She wiped her face with a hand, almost angry that she had allowed herself to cry over Thorin _again_. She steeled her nerve, and turned to face him. He had not moved; still he stood, the bedraggled bouquet in his hands. His expression was open, earnest, and she thought she might have preferred to see that blank, kingly mask.

“What do these say?” he asked her. His voice now was gentle, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind and the sounds of people down below. He held the flowers out to her, but Bella couldn’t bring herself to step forward and take them. 

“Distrust,” she said. “A desire for riches. The cyclamens – the purple buds – are for a goodbye.” She saw how Thorin winced, how he could not look at her. She felt her heart soften, just a little. “The ivy and the fern leaves are a little better,” she added. “Ivy for affection and fidelity, and the fern can be confidence, or shelter. Put together, it might speak of a desire to provide a loving home.”

“But not with the flowers,” Thorin muttered. He pulled the flowers from the bouquet, and tossed them aside. Bella shook her head, weary, but said nothing to stop him.

“No,” she agreed. “No, the flowers…” They hit a nerve, although of course he could have had no idea that the meanings were so close to the terrible events that had ripped their betrothal to pieces.

“I wish there was some way I could make this right,” Thorin said. He was so desperate, so full of regret and shame. Bella wrapped her arms around her middle and looked down at the flowers on the flagstones at his feet. 

“I wish there was, too,” she admitted. She spoke so quietly that she wasn’t sure he would hear her, but he inhaled sharply and took a step towards her before he checked himself. 

“I love you, Bella,” he told her. “There will never be another for me.”

His words hit Bella like a punch to the stomach. “You cut my braid!” she cried out. “You cut my bead from my hair and told me that I meant nothing to you!” He had held her against a pillar, here on the walkway above the gate – just beyond where he stood now – and he had lifted a knife. She’d thought, for one brief, terrified moment, that he meant to slit her throat. Instead he had done something almost worse, and cut her courting braid from her hair. Then he had put his hands around her neck and nearly choked her to death as he threatened to send her tumbling to her death from the walkway.

“How am I ever meant to believe you now, when you say you love me?” she demanded of him. “How, Thorin? Answer me that, and perhaps we can mend this.” He said nothing, and perhaps that was for the best. She could not think of a single answer he could give that would be worth anything. She took a breath, and another, trying to calm herself. At last she trusted herself to speak once more. “I have forgiven you your actions, and your words,” she said to him then. “But how can I possibly forget, Thorin?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I am not the person to ask. You may have forgiven me, but I cannot forgive myself.”

“Then how,” said Bella wearily, her anger fading, “could we ever make this right?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin said again. “But I wish we could try.” He fell silent, and they looked at one another for a time. He looked tired, and grieved. Bella thought of Kili, still under the healers’ care, and of Dwalin, who would never again swing an axe with his right arm. Fili had taken three arrows before he had fallen, and Thorin himself had nearly lost his life, saved only by the skill of the Elven healers. The rest of the Company had not been so badly wounded, but everyone sported injuries of some kind.

They had all survived, even those for whom the worst had been feared. But they were all scarred by what had happened, one way or another – by the battle, and by what had happened before.

“Can you not give me a chance, at least?” Thorin asked her then. “Gandalf tells me you want to go at once, but he’s concerned about your health.” Bella scoffed, and shook her head, but Thorin lifted a hand and continued. “Oin says you are not fit to travel, and – loathe though I am to say it – the Elven healers agree.”

“None of you have _any_ right to make decisions for me,” Bella snapped. 

“I do not seek to,” Thorin said quickly. “I said I would not try to change your mind.” Bella nodded slowly. He had said that. “But you could stay for the winter,” he went on. “Rebuild your strength, and face the journey back in the spring, in better weather.”

It was a sensible proposal, and Bella knew that Gandalf would urge her to agree. Bofur, too, would be pleased by such a plan. But it would mean spending a whole winter in Erebor, which was scarcely habitable and now housed Dain’s army and refugees from Lake-town. Provisions would be stretched, and quarters would be close – and she would not be able to avoid Thorin. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think, to sort through her muddled thoughts and feelings. She wanted to be gone, and quickly, but still, she _knew_ that Thorin spoke sense, and she didn’t particularly like the idea of braving the Misty Mountains in winter. But staying here would hold its own challenges.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Come here, please,” she said. Thorin frowned, but he obeyed – slowly, hesitantly, watching her closely. Bella held herself still, refusing to flinch away from him this time. When he was barely an arm’s length from her, she took the ivy and ferns from his hand, and put them on the balustrade behind her. Thorin was frowning, uncertain, but Bella didn’t say anything to him. Instead she took his hands and lifted them to her neck. She held them there when Thorin tried to pull away – she couldn’t have held him if he truly tried to break away from her, of course, but she was counting on his shame to keep him from attempting to use his strength against her.

“You held me like this,” she said quietly. “Your fingers fit over these bruises, don’t they, Thorin?” He nodded, his gaze fixed on his hands at her neck. He was gentle – so gentle, so clearly unwilling to hurt her. His hands barely grazed her skin. It was really nothing like the way he had held her, the way he had nearly strangled her. “I know it was the gold sickness,” she said, “and I forgive you for it, because it wasn’t you, really. But how can I ever forget? You are bigger than me, and far stronger, and you could break me so easily.”

“Have I broken you, then?” he asked, barely louder than a whisper. He tried to pull his hands away once more, and this time she let him. “Have I broken you, Bella?”

“No,” said Bella, and she was surprised to realise that she spoke the truth. She was weary and heartsick, to be sure, but she was not broken. He had broken her heart when he cut the braid from her hair, perhaps, but hearts healed, and she did not hold him responsible for his behaviour under the thrall of gold sickness. And, until she had betrayed him, he had still loved her. His love had grown dark and possessive, but he had never lifted a hand to her until she had betrayed him by giving the Arkenstone to his enemies.

“No, I am not broken,” she said, gaining a little strength from the knowledge. “But I am afraid of you now, Thorin. I never was before.” He was stricken, and took a step away from her. Bella did nothing to stop him. “How can I risk my heart again?” she asked. “How can you ask it of me?”

“Because I do not believe you will be happy in the Shire,” Thorin said, and it seemed to Bella as though the words were torn from him. He looked as though he wished he hadn’t said them, and for a moment he seemed to deliberate, and then he grimaced and continued. “You do not fit there, Bella,” he said. “Not now – not before. You lived alone in that hole –,”

“Smial,” Bella corrected automatically.

“Smial,” he accepted. “You lived alone. You have never married. You ran after us, beloved, as if you could hardly wait, for all you had been adamant in your refusal the night before.” He didn’t seem to realise that he’d called her ‘beloved’, and Bella said nothing about it. She did not like the way she felt when he said it, as if hope was rising up in her breast, a bird fluttering its wings and gaining strength. “I have watched you gain strength and courage, these past months,” Thorin went on. “Can you really say that you will be happy, to leave us behind and go back to your quiet Shire?”

Bella thought of Bofur, her older brother in all but blood. Of Dwalin, who had said– before they had reached the Mountain, but after Lake-town – that he would teach her to wield a sword properly, so that she would be a true Dwarven queen. She thought of Fili and Kili, who had barely escaped the battle with their lives, determined to defend their uncle and king to the death, if necessary.

They were her family. Somehow, in the months since she had opened her front door and found an unexpected guest on her doorstep, these Dwarves had become her family. She didn’t want to leave them. 

She was crying again, she realised crossly, and lifted a hand to wipe her cheeks. 

“For somebody who claims to not want to change my mind, you’re doing a good job of it,” she had to admit.

“I will not deny that I wish you would stay,” Thorin nodded. “The idea of you being gone is…not one that I can easily bear.” Bella shook her head, unable to speak. Tears fell down her face, and she could not stop them. “You need not see me, if you don’t wish it,” Thorin said, though she was sure it pained him to say it. “I will stay out of your way. But you would be here, beloved, and I would know that you were safe.”

“Empty words,” she whispered. “Would you truly be contented with knowing I was close but never seeing me, Thorin?” He didn’t answer, and she shook her head again. “You would not,” she said. “And…and neither would I.” His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak. “I’m not going because I don’t love you, Thorin,” she told him quickly, before he could say anything. “I will never love anyone as I love you. But I don’t trust you anymore, and love without trust won’t last long.”

“Then let me earn back your trust,” Thorin entreated. “Please, Bella. Stay the winter and let me try.” Then he knelt before her, and withdrew something from his pocket. 

Her braid. He had kept her braid. One end was still firmly clasped by the bead he had put there, but the other – where it had been cut from her head – was tied with a thread that she thought was from the red shirt he had been given in Lake-town. 

He had kept it. Even in the depths of his gold madness, when he had banished her from Erebor, there had been some part of him that loved her yet, or else why would he have kept the braid?

She choked on a sob, and covered her mouth with her hand. This – this was why she had been afraid of talking to him. She had been afraid he would remind her of how and why she loved him, and so he had. Could she move past her fear? Could she learn to trust him again? She wasn’t sure. But suddenly she wasn’t sure that it was fair to Thorin, to deprive him of a chance. And that was what she would be doing, if she left as soon as she planned. She would be depriving him of the small chance that they _might_ be able to repair their relationship.

He still wore a courting braid, with her bead in it. That meant something.

“Stand up, for goodness’ sake,” she said at last. “What if any of Dain’s folk came in and found you kneeling to me? What would they think?”

“They would think that I kneel before the woman I wish to be my queen,” Thorin said, not making any move to rise. “They would see me kneeling to beg a chance to atone from the woman I have wronged.” He watched her intently, until Bella couldn’t bear it any longer and turned away from him. She turned her face into the wind and breathed it in, trying to regain some semblance of control, of dignity. “I will do anything you ask of me,” Thorin promised her. “If only you will give me a chance to earn back your trust.”

Bella smiled a bitter smile, and glanced back at him. “Would you?” she said. “What if I asked you to send the Arkenstone back into the depths of the Mountain?” Thorin hesitated, and Bella shook her head. “Empty words,” she said again.

“No,” Thorin argued. “No, they are not. If you ask me to do that, it shall be done.” Bella frowned, and looked closely at him. He wasn’t lying, she realised. He had hesitated, but he wasn’t lying when he said he would do it. She swallowed, and thought carefully about her next words.

“What if I asked you to let me go?” she asked at last. “What if, at the end of the winter, I am still afraid and still want to go back to the Shire?”

“I…I would never stop you from leaving, if that is your wish,” said Thorin, but he sounded defeated. He bowed his head, as if he had given up hope of her staying. But his answer made Bella feel better. A winter, then – and at the end of it, a decision. 

Perhaps it would be better this way. Emotions were still running high, and all injuries took time to heal. Perhaps her heartbreak could be healed in Erebor, or perhaps it could not, but Bella thought that she could give herself the time to see.

“I have conditions, if I am to stay the winter,” she said at last. Thorin looked up, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Anything,” he swore. Bella rolled her eyes at him, but Thorin was determined, and she knew she would not sway him from his conviction.

“First of all, stand up,” she said, gesturing at him. “You look ridiculous, kneeling in front of me.” Thorin’s mouth twisted, as if he wanted to argue with her, but he rose without saying anything, and put her braided hair back into his pocket. “That’s better,” said Bella firmly. “Please don’t do that again. It’s not right.”

“You’ve said that before,” Thorin pointed out. “And my answer is the same as it was then.” Bella pursed her lips and shook her head. He had knelt before her in Lake-town, and thanked her for saving them all. But much had passed since then, and she did not feel she was owed thanks now. Still, Thorin had risen, and he now stood patiently awaiting her conditions.

“We are not courting,” Bella told him. Thorin frowned, but Bella was firm. “Not by Hobbit standards,” she said. “I will not be courted by you until I trust you again. That’s what this winter is about, yes? You earning my trust. So we’re not courting. I am not your betrothed.”

“That…is fair,” Thorin said slowly, “although you will forgive me if I do not remove my bead and braid. I still consider myself bound to you.” 

Bella’s heart fluttered a little at his words, but she was cross for reacting so. Be a Baggins, not a Took, she scolded herself. There was no need at all to let herself get swept up in his romanticisms. 

“That’s your choice,” she said with a careless shrug. “Just so long as we’re clear about where we stand.” Thorin bowed his head in agreement, and Bella tried to remember what it was she had meant to say. It was hard; she felt tired from their conversation so far, and the wind was growing colder. Bella wished for the thick cloak that Dori had found for her, but she had left it inside. She hadn’t intended to be out here this long. She had only wanted to prove to herself that she could stand here, where so many harsh words and actions had been rained upon her. She had wanted to stand here without fear, and she had done so. She hadn’t expected Thorin to join her here.

“Don’t do this again,” she said suddenly. “Don’t…I don’t want to be alone with you, Thorin.” She couldn’t look at him as she spoke – she couldn’t bear to see the pain that she knew her words would cause him.

“Bella,” he said, and he sounded so utterly forlorn that Bella’s heart ached.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “It’s – it’s too much, Thorin.”

“Not yet,” Thorin repeated. He sighed audibly, and Bella forced herself to look up at him. The pain she had expected to see was there; he wore a pinched, unhappy expression. She met his gaze and found that she wanted to apologise for saying it. She opened her mouth to speak, but Thorin held up a hand to stop her. “No,” he said gently. “You are right to demand that of me, Bella. You would be well within your rights to refuse to see me at all.” She swallowed her apology, and Thorin went on. “I will not approach you when you are alone, I swear it.”

“I am so rarely alone, anyhow,” said Bella, trying to smile.

“Bofur cares for you deeply,” Thorin agreed. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but seemed to change his mind. “Chaperoned meetings, then,” he said. “I am sure that any of the Company will be…happy to make sure that I am not alone with you,” he added, a bitter note in his voice. Bella nodded; she was quite certain that Bofur, at the very least, had warned Thorin away from her. Probably Dori, too, and perhaps Balin. Gandalf, too – because he had been so angry when he had discovered what had passed between Bella and Thorin, and thus how great was the hurt Thorin had done to her that day.

“Not forever,” she said impulsively. “I do love you, Thorin. Don’t doubt that. I’m just…”

“Afraid of me,” Thorin finished for her. Bella said nothing – there was really nothing to say. They stood in silence, watching each other. The wind blew cold and fierce, and Bella knew that she should go inside soon. Bofur would be looking for her, probably frantic with worry by now. Erebor was not safe, as she had been told by more than one Dwarf since they had entered the mountain. The dragon had wrought much damage, and there were stairways and walkways that were structurally unsound now. Just the other day, some poor Dwarf from Dain’s army had been badly hurt by a falling stone. Bella, who had no Dwarven stone-sense, had been warned to stick to populated areas and, preferably, not to wander alone.

“What other conditions do you have?” Thorin asked at last. “How else may I make you comfortable here, Bella?”

“Well,” said Bella, “some good food wouldn’t go amiss. I’m rather fed up of you Dwarves and your three meals a day.” Suddenly they were smiling at each other. Thorin’s smile was wide and fond, his eyes twinkling at her, and for a moment it was as if nothing had changed since Lake-town. For a moment it was as if they were back in that room, in the house given for their use by the Master, teasing each other gaily as they began to create something between them.

“I’m not sure our rations will stretch to a full seven meals, beloved,” Thorin teased her. “But I will see what I can do.”

“Then I shall stay for the winter,” Bella said. It seemed to be a promise, and it hung in the air between them. Thorin was still smiling at her, and Bella almost wanted to step close and let him hold her. But she doubted herself; she doubted that she would feel safe, so close to him. So she stayed where she was, but she smiled still.

“Bella Baggins! What have I told you about wandering off?”

It was Bofur, with her cloak slung over his arm and a fearsome scowl on his face. He came out onto the walkway and saw Thorin, and his scowl only deepened. 

“It’s alright, Bofur,” Bella said quickly. “I’m quite well.”

“Oh, are you, now?” Bofur muttered, coming to her side and touching her cheek with one finger. “You’ve been crying.” He rounded on Thorin, who stood still and implacable. “What’ve you done now?” Bofur demanded. He didn’t use Thorin’s title, but Thorin didn’t correct or rebuke him. 

“ _Nothing_ ,” said Bella, grabbing Bofur’s arm and pulling him back towards her. “Bofur, listen to me, please,” she entreated. Bofur pursed his lips, but let her speak. “I am perfectly fine,” she said. “Thorin and I have been talking, that’s all.”

“He should not be coming near you,” Bofur said staunchly. “Not after what he’s done.”

“Bofur,” Bella said softly, “I promise I am not being foolish. I am going to stay the winter, and Thorin…”

“Bella has given me the opportunity to try to regain her trust,” said Thorin. Bofur didn’t turn to look at him; he kept staring at Bella, and Bella looked earnestly at him, trying to make him see that this was truly her decision, and that she was content to stay.

“You don’t deserve it,” Bofur said at last, turning to Thorin. “And if you hurt her again…”

“If I hurt her again, you may give me whatever punishment you wish,” said Thorin. “And I will accept it without question. You have my word.”

Bella huffed in irritation. “Dwarves,” she grumbled. “I shall never understand the lot of you. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much!” Thorin and Bofur shared a look, a rare moment of agreement, and Bella put her hands on her hips and glowered at them both. “I’ll thank you both to remember just how many times the pair of you would be dead if it wasn’t for me,” she said.

“Yes, beloved,” said Thorin, with a show of contrition.

“As you say,” Bofur agreed. “Still, I’m not the one who’s come out here without a proper cloak, am I?” He handed over her cloak, and Bella wrapped it around herself gratefully. “Now come on in,” Bofur said. “Bombur’s cooking up something special for supper and he wants your help.”

”Alright,” said Bella, letting him usher her away from the edge of the walkway. She looked at Thorin, and their eyes met for a moment. Yes, she decided. She could stay for the winter, and perhaps…

Well, time would tell. But Thorin loved her still, and Bella rather thought she would be a fool to throw that away without giving him a chance to heal her wounds.

And no Baggins could ever be called a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who's read and commented :) thank you again to pinkfairy727, etmuse and wanderingchild. 
> 
> This was only meant to be a short one-shot. I think I need to stop telling myself that I'm capable of writing short one-shots...


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